


Ghost

by bonnief0xx



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha Ramsay Bolton, F/M, Game of Thrones References, Game of Thrones-esque, Inspired by Game of Thrones, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2019-10-03 12:36:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 35,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17284190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonnief0xx/pseuds/bonnief0xx
Summary: Ramsay Bolton had held Winterfell for the best part of two long, cruel years. Many faces had come and gone - many lives had been bought, broken and bent under his hand. The Stark's had reclaimed their lovely sister through a battle hardwon and left the menace of Winterfell to lick his wounds and curse the lives of the misfortune left amongst the fall outWARNING; heavy themes, abuse, non-con, strong scenes of violence, stockholm.





	1. A Ghost

Ramsay Bolton had held Winterfell for the best part of two long, cruel years. Many faces had come and gone - many lives had been bought, broken and bent under his hand. The Stark's had reclaimed their lovely sister through a battle hardwon and left the menace of Winterfell to lick his wounds and curse the lives of the misfortunate left amongst the fall out. Guard's and loyal servants manned the walls and doors day and night. No path safe to turn to - never an escape from his temper as it seared across the castle grounds in search of a target.

The trick that no man or woman seemed to learn was Ramsay was much like a predator in every sense of the word, and to be treated as one at all times. Fear to Ramsay was what blood was to a shark, I had seen him first hand sniff out the most fragile in the room; engage the same prey drive as the hounds that ran for miles after a single hare under his command and I had been pinned beneath his burning body as he became as feral as the Dothraki tribes that only hardened soldiers spun stories about. I had stared into the eyes of a man that no longer resembled a man. There was no humanity left in that steel stare; no voice to reason with; no whisper of hope or forgiveness - only the remains of what he could of been and never will be.

Perhaps this understanding and acceptance of what my Lord is was the reason I had survived these past two years. Perhaps that is why he had not taken me in chains to the woods and set the hounds on me, perhaps he had grown fond of my spirit, or perhaps he was saving me for something far worse than the whores he grew bored of so easily. It would do me no good to fret over such things, if I thought about all the ways Ramsay might eventually kill me I would be a wreck. Which as I clarified, is a sure fire way to get yourself slaughtered. The weak are always first to die.

I am not Ramsay's whore, pet or plaything - I am all these things and more. I knew that being subjected to all of these things instead of just the one meant for a longer lifespan on his shelf of toys, and yet somehow I still felt the outrage of injustice creep up my spine when others got so little of his time and attention. Dead or not. The fact I had not begged for my own death after a beating or submitted to this life with the same attitude as those soulless, grey eyed slaves in the cellars meant I did not end up with the rest of them. I were allowed to stay at Ramsay's bedside even when the likes of a new whore arrived for a week or so. I were always allowed to eat next to his table at meal times, not forced into the kennels with some other unfortunates to become dinner. And I was always guest of honour when an execution were to take place; when the expiry date ran out on an old plaything, or a former slave was too bloody and broken to scream loud enough anymore.

Ghost is what he had named me. For that was all that would remain of me when he grew tired of my body, voice and mind. I often felt that the new name was quite fitting, I was silent for many days sometimes, only ever watching him play his games with the innocent lives of others. I had learnt to hide in his shadow when he were busy under council of his Father and the Maesters. At first, it escaped no ones notice that I still had my head after what they called Ramsay's honeymoon period, but when they had asked him why he kept my heart beating - the Lord had forced me to my knees, cupped my cheeks, and ordered them to look at me for longer than anyone deemed necessary. When the room fell silent and my cheeks began to bruise, Ramsay began to speak. "She fears me, and yet she does not cry or beg for my mercy. She could kill me, and yet she does not plot to end my life to spare her own torturous existence. She could love me, and yet she does not choose to see my hatred for a twisted romance. Why?" The weight of that question seemed to ring out into the great halls of Winterfell as the men before him exchanged curious expressions.

After a heavy silence stretched out across the table, Ramsay dragged my uncooperative body between his legs and let go of my face. "Because she is truly mine, my Lords." I remember looking up to him in that moment and thinking that he would snap my neck. Instead he simply stared at me, his expression shifting every so often into something I couldn't quite place. It was no look of endearment. It was a look that I still believe will accompany my death. If death ever does come for me.

                                                                                                                               *

It were past midnight when the raven arrived at his window - the poor thing had barely made the journey it seemed. It's feathers were so bent and brittle I'm surprised it managed to take flight again after it's obvious attack. I padded over to the window and offered the tired bird an arm to rest on. It took it gratefully and I took the chance to remove the parchment from beneath it's breast. I would not dare read it. It were not my place to open my Lord's letters and I had never been foolish enough to believe otherwise. Ramsay snored softly from the pile of blankets and goose feather pillows that he had claimed as his bed, tucked away amidst it all like a thorn wrapped in a rose petal. He slept soundly, never fearing that I would unsheathe his nearby sword and drive it through him. I wouldn't. He knew it. I knew it. I just didn't know why I couldn't kill him. He deserved it more than any man or woman I had ever met, yet I could not be the one to do it myself - even if I did wish it upon him sometimes. However, I truly did not want to wake him - if I had my way I would of sat with the injured bird until the early hours and feigned ignorance to it's arrival. However, the bird did not look like it would make it to the morning, and if the letter were important enough to distract him for long enough, I could even find it some milk of the poppy to ease it's final few hours. So I swallowed my nerves.

"My lord, a raven has arrived for you."

A small stir at first, and then a whoosh of air as the covers began to be thrown this way and that as Ramsay found his way to the surface of the bed. Eventually sleep tousled hair found it's way into the light and the Lord was facing me, as unamused as ever. "And you decided this were important enough to wake me?" His voice was as tight as the string of a bow, dripping with venom and begging me to give him a reason to release the arrow.

"The seal is from the Night's Watch, my Lord."

Ramsay rose from the bed, naked as a babe and hung like a man as he stood before me. I held his gaze and offered him the letter with a false courage that always arrived when he leered over me. "Thank you for deciding that a letter from the bastard that shamed me in front of my own people was a fairly just cause to wake me after a full days ride, you selfish whore." A hand struck out and knocked me three steps back. Meanwhile his face remained taut - Ramsay was not truly angry with me. This was child's play. I swallowed back the bile in my throat and gently touched my cheek, choosing to look at the rather startled raven that had returned to the window ledge. Jump. I thought bitterly. Save yourself.

"You know, you always have been the perfect outlet for my failures." The young lord took two steps forward. I matched him with two steps back, bumping against the slated brickwork behind me. The chill that ran up my spine sobered my thoughts and chased away some of the fear that had lodged itself there. "Don't struggle." He whispered, so gently his voice could have lulled me into a false sense of security had I not known better. A single hand wrapped around my neck, lifting me with no more struggle than he would raising a glass to toast. I would not panic. Another step closer, his body pressing flat against my own, forcing the last of the air from my lungs as he took a deep breath in the crook of my neck. I would not panic. White spots and flashes seared across my vision as he held me there, the blood seeming to rush to my head in hopes of saving my brain with the oxygen it lacked. I would not panic. Black crept in from all sides, tunneling my vision until all that was left was him. Lips parted in awe as he watched the life drain from my body; eyes alight with a fire that only this kind of power could spark. I would not panic."If you are unconscious for this, I promise you'll wake up with more than a bruise on that pretty face of yours." With that I felt my body launch from the wall to the bed, the impact of the landing jarring me into consciousness once more. I savored every lungful of air I could suck in and waited for the onslaught. I did not cry, or beg or plead with him. It would only excite him further. Two strong hands jostled me into position and I let the terror wash over me in cold, calming waves - my body and mind going utterly numb as he took me in his bed. I believe he hit me then, because the world went dark and the cold rolled over me until I was lost in a dreamless slumber that I did not wish to wake from.

                                                                                                                                 *

"You really should start to aim for a part of her body that is covered by the rags you keep her in, my Lord." The maester tutted, wearily inspecting my beaten body - dubious eyes roaming the skin from head to toe. I could feel a split over my lip and another, deeper gash slicing across my eyebrow. Grazes covered my elbows and knees; bruises marred the already discolored skin - each one turning shades of purple, black and blue. All telling a story of the horror that was the night before. No different from the horrors before them. No different from the horrors to come.

"Is this why she does not fall with a babe, Maester? Or is she as broken on the inside as she appears on the out." Ramsay sneered at his own commentary, eyes still fixated on the blade that he sharpened in his hand.

"No, my lord. I believe she could fall with a babe. In fact I believe she already has - several times. It's the..." the maester seemed to pause, struggling for the right words to not upset the king of the castle, "stress that her body undergoes. She is not strong enough to bear a child." As I listened carefully to the Maester's words I seemed to forget myself - as a fine needle poked between the open wound on my face and a soft whimper escaped my lips.

I think that was the first time the Maester had ever heard a noise come from the tiny figure that he bandaged up so frequently throughout the years. It stopped him mid motion, his hands steadying, becoming gentler than they had before.

Ramsay rolled his eyes and pointed the blade at me in an unspoken warning, eyes straying lower and lower as he let the blade twirl between his fingertips. Hunger stirred in his gaze and I wrapped an arm around my frame, fingertips brushing broken ribs and tender skin as they rested around my waist. Silence swallowed me whole once more and I allowed the maester to continue the tedious job of fixing an already broken thing.

After the quick fix with the Maester before breakfast, Ramsay's day was overrun with duty and business alike - all due to a particular letter sent personally from Jon Snow, the bastard himself. He demanded a meeting with my Lord and his people. He did not wish to reclaim Winterfell - only to make peace with the house closest to the Wall before the wars that promised to come. He did not want another battle, even going as far to give his personal condolences to the men lost on the battlefield that day. Both Ramsay's and his own. He asked for an allegiance between the two of them. He knew he could not take Winterfell through brute force and explained that he would rather talk, trade and swear oaths before the gods to honour the Bolton's as new bannermen to the cause he was fighting. That cause being the Queen and all of the Lannister army. Oh, and the army of Whitewalkers.

As the day progressed and Ramsay attended meeting after meeting with his council, I began to paint a picture of the demands and heavy risks that came with such a letter from the current King in the North. Many advisor warned Ramsay of a trap - an ambush from this alleged King and his newfound army of wildlings and bandits. Others, (mainly the remains of the Stark servants,) protested that Jon was honest and true; a good man that would make a good ally. All of these speakers were dead now. And others said the young man must have been taken by a fever and spewed more dribble than the sick and dying at the Citadel Cellars. Whitewalkers were talk of old dears caught up in mythology and folklore, after all.

So Jon Snow's line of defense was gone and Winterfell's council were only left with self doubt and paranoia as Ramsay swallowed back any and all pride that he had salvaged after the battle lost to the bastard in the previous months. From what I could tell - allowing Jon Snow to return to Winterfell with a handful of his guards was no great risk. However, allowing themselves to become comfortable in the bastards company would be foolish. Ramsay had beat and raped the bastards sister; overthrew the last of his people; took his home and sent a flaming arrow through the heart of the youngest Stark all for the sake of bloodsport. Jon Snow had gained some powerful allies, which was all the more reason to make peace with him while they had the chance - but it was the age old question of whether the undecided enemy truly wanted to make peace? How could he? Why would he? It were these questions that had the council up in arms. That and the talk of Whitewalkers. A greater threat than Jon Snow or any powerful enemy could ever pose; even behind the towering walls of Winterfell.

It took hours to come to a decision about what to do about Jon Snow's proposition. The great hall grew colder by the second; the hard, cold floor that I knelt on seemed to crack and become more jagged underneath me and small cuts and sores had begun etching themselves into my knees. Still I sat quietly beside Ramsay at his table while he argued, cursed and killed alike - all the while coming to a decision on what to do about the King in the North. He knew the bastard wouldn't kill him behind these four walls - he knew the bastard would kill him if he left them. So a meeting over supper to discuss a peace treaty - what was there to lose?

It was done. All the uproar and stress Ramsay ended the meeting as suddenly as it had begun, telling the Maester to send a fresh raven back to the Wall inviting Jon Snow and no more than 10 of his men to Winterfell. If the bastard could not meet that single demand, they would ready themselves for battle once more. The maester suggested some talk of peace and forgiveness, but Ramsay was already throwing a gown over his shoulders and preparing to leave. A sharp word cut any more conversation about the matter short, the room falling silent for the first time in what felt like forever.

That night I watched Ramsay fuck and kill a whore in the bed we shared. I thanked the God's he had not chosen to take out all that rage on me. I think she had been a scullery maid - not that she had the body of a whore, anyway. Too plump for those that demanded money for their sex. I did not pity the girl. I didn't have it in me to pity his victims any more. I saved my strength for my own self loathing after a hard night.

Ramsay's body was sleek with sweat and as warm as the coals on a fire as he pressed himself against my back. I did not arch away from him as I used to - it was easier to lie here and steal his bodyheat than it was to fight him away from me.

"Do you think Jon Snow will kill me, Ghost?" A murmur in my ear, soft enough to know that the Lord was already near slumber.

"I think Jon Snow would like to kill you, my Lord." I answered honestly and was rewarded with a soft grumble into the crook of my neck. Ramsay may be insufferable, but he did not need to be mollycoddled into thinking the world and it's inhabitants loved him. In fact, I think the only thing he had ever craved from people was fear. Fear and something one step further than respect. Loyalty. Worship. Deference.

"Would you like Jon Snow to kill me?"

The question was a trap. I knew that. I also didn't know the answer to it. Yes. No. It was pointless fretting over which I wanted. It wouldn't happen and if it did I had more to worry about than whether I was glad it did. "I don't know what I'd do if someone killed you, my Lord." It was not a lie.

"That's not an answer." An irritated huff puffed out against the hairs on my neck and I felt his grip tighten. "But I suppose it rings true. What would you be if not for me? A starving whore on the edge of the Kingsroad, just as beaten and broken as when I found you." He mused.

"You were not loved. You were not owned. You belonged to nobody and yet you still remained a slave to the men of this world. If not for me, you would have been torn apart by a pack of wolves or a pack of men. Raped and murdered in the cess pit you called a home. You are lucky to be mine. I am nothing if not your savior, little Ghost."

The cruel words danced across my neck and seeped deep under skin, biting in to the flesh there and repeating themselves in the back of my mind even after he grew silent in the darkness behind me. I knew what he said was true. Gods, I had lived under his hand for so long I think I would be too frightened to step out from his shadow even if I could. I was nothing but a shell of a person. A ghost. That was all that would be left of me after he grew tired of my body, soul and mind.

I don't remember the last time I cried. I thought my tears had dried up long ago. I should imagine it was most likely on a night much like this one - beaten and finally broken by words whispered in an ear and cutting the last of my resolve. Yet, somehow, the words wrung out what had to be the last of my sadness. I didn't make a sound. Ramsay did not move to wipe my eyes, though I knew he could feel the silent, shallow sobs that rocked my body, a body that felt all the smaller cradled in his own. Had I been a fool I would of told myself he was holding me in an attempt to console my sadness. Perhaps I would of found comfort in the faux embrace - but I did not need a candle to know that Ramsay only smiled down at me. I don't know how long he left me there in his arms, weeping into the pillows and cursing myself silently for breaking down like some gutter whore for him. It did not last though. Eventually a hand gripped the back of my neck and I was forced into the bed beneath us. I couldn't let the cold wash over me in time. I couldn't black out and pretend to be numb. I felt every second of Ramsay's assault and he knew. I would only ever know this life. I would live and die with this man as my God - and as he climbed off of me and rolled into the comforts of the blankets; as the tears dried on my skin and stains streaked my cheeks; and as he let out the most content of sighs into the cold night air; I knew. I had been waiting in fear for so long for Death to come for me, yet it never would - for death was not the worst thing to happen to you.


	2. A Trade

A morning as cool and crisp as the Northfolk could scarcely bare presented itself the morning of Jon Snow's arrival. It was as if the King himself had brought down the frost from the Wall and marched it to our gate. The Lord, his Father and their council all had the privellege of heavy set fur coats - all hard earned by Ramsay and his bloodhounds. I couldn't fight away the cold as the men did, all swaddled in their capes and coats; encasing their bodies in a deep warmth that fought the chill away. Instead I stood alone in nothing but a small, lace dress - the fabric so thin it did nothing to save my dignity as I stood behind the Lord with the Hounds chained at my feet. All pressed as close to my body as they could get. Whether that was to warm me up or steal the remains of my body heat I did not know nor care, for I could at least pray I would not lose a foot to the frost as I stood quietly in the 6 inches of heavy snow.

The rest of the castle were tucked away behind the stone walls, yet each window were teeming with faces all itching to get a glimpse of the first enounter between the two bastards; even the servants and maids that had been worked to bone before the arrival all peeked out of their crooks and doors as the horn sounded long and true into the dawn - warning of an approach.

The gates opened and in rode the Bastard - with no more than 10 of his men as he had promised. My eyes were met with men of all shapes and sizes as they dismounted their steeds and led them closer to Ramsay and his council. The archers all drew back their bows with a hiss as the man that must of been Jon Snow himself stepped ahead of his men.

"Ramsay. I thank you for allowing this meeting to take place in your home." It were no secret that the man clearly struggled to spit out the words your and home in the same sentence, but it seems Jon Snow was a diplomat if nothing else and he offered out a hand bound in beaten leather to Ramsay, then to his Father and finally to the Captain of his guard - who did nothing but stare at the King in the North with the utmost distaste. As the archers seemed to sense a calming of the non existant threat the real introductions began - each man in Jon's party had a title and a home they once belonged to and I listened curiously to the jumble of words the mismatched group all spewed about themselves. Courtesies of the Lords had never been my forte, a man were a man no matter where he came from - esteemed titles or not. However, Ramsay had been trained and regimented to learn each and every title in the Seven Kingdoms as did any young man raised by a respectable Lord.

I zoned in and out of their conversations and steadied the hounds at my feet as they begged to be let loose on the new arrivals. If I were to unleash the mongrels this meeting would be over before they had gotten past their introductions - but it would declare a war between Ramsay and the King's people and would mean my death for certainty.

I was so lost in keeping a grip on the chains of the hounds and not letting the cold bite into me so much as I would begin to shake that I must of jumped a foot in the air when a voice boomed Ghost across the grounds. My own fright was accompanied by a fierce reaction by the hounds, every one of them snapping their jaws and raising their hackles at the King in the North as he stared at the open gates.

"Silence those hounds or I'll feed you to them before the morn is over." Ramsay did not look at me as he spoke, yet I knew he had his full attention in that second.

I tried my best to calm the hounds, but they became more wild with every second that passed and even began to lunge this way and that in hopes of escaping their chains. I had never seen them become so unruly in front of Ramsay himself and began to trust that whatever had spooked them deserved as much caution as the dogs warned of. It were not until a beast bigger than any wolf or dog I had ever faced bolted through the gates that I fully understood the fear that wrecked the pack. It stood as tall as any man, a huge bulk of muscle that rippled under its winter coat as it padded alongside it's aparant master.

"This is Ghost." The bastard calmly explained the beast was a Direwolf found in the Godswood many years ago and had since been raised by him at the Wall. It were no pet, but it meant no harm unless under threat. It responded to his voice as he spoke, seeming to bow it's head and grow more subdued as Ramsay began a long, slow clap for the dramatic entrance. I don't know whether he envisioned killing the beast or it leading his hunt, but the game had just changed. Ramsay would not rest until he had the beast under his hand, whether that be as a fur coat or his newest bloodchaser. Excitement oozed from those piercing eyes as he seemed to forget the rest of the party were here, lost in a world where the direwolf bowed to only him. It didn't take long for him to compose himself, a slow smile stretching from ear to ear as he turned to face me.

"I don't suppose you'll trade me, Snow? A ghost for a ghost?" The laughter that rippled from Ramsay and his council all cut through me, but the joke was lost on Jon Snow and his men, who only turned to stare at me in utter bewilderment. I assume they had only just noticed the near naked girl with the hounds.

"A ghost for a ghost?" Echoed Jon.

"Yes. You see, I have a pet of my own that shares a name with your impressive beast. Now, I'm afraid she is not as fierce, but I promise you she is as loyal as any hound you could ever wish to own." Ramsay's tone was dripping with amusement as he kicked the dogs away from my feet and lunged. A hand wrestled into my hair and I was brought forward before the standing ovation of 20 men, forced to my knees in inches of snow and laid bare before the bastard and his beast

"Ghost is no name for a woman." Jon didn't seem to understand what was being said, his brows knitting into a deep frown as he stared down at me.

"She is no woman, Snow." Ramsay released my hair and I dipped my head to hide my face, cheeks burning bright enough to melt the snow around us. "I assume you do not want to trade?"

"No." Jon was curt about his answer. "Ghost is not a prize to be bought, unfortunately. However, I would suggest you wrap your own pet in something a little warmer or she won't make it through the winter. And the cut on her face is infected. A maester should of noticed days ago." I looked up to see that the King in the North was now staring at only Ramsay, eyes burning with unspent rage. "Is this how you treat all the women under your leige, my Lord?"

Ramsay continued smiling, thoroughly enjoying the rise he had gotten from his guests. "Only the ones that behave."

Jon Snow broke the growing tension between the two of them and turned back to his horse, retrieving a clad black fur coat, seemingly made for a woman. "It belongs to my sister, but I'm sure she won't mind."

I could feel Ramsay's eyes burning into me; I could feel the rage that he swallowed back only to spit at me later; I could feel the way his chest rose and fell in a meek attempt to calm himself. I could not look at Jon Snow as he wrapped the coat around my shoulders, nor could I even manage to whisper a thank you in the safety of his presence. I was so frightened in that moment I think the lump in my throat turned to clay, choking me for air as much as it did for the words that Jon Snow deserved. I didn't have time to fret over my manners for long, I was up in the air beside my Lord in less than a second, that same strong hand matted in my hair. I didn't cry out, though I know at least a clump had been ripped from my scalp.

"I think that's enough bonding for one day, don't you?" He spoke to only me and I nodded in response as quickly as I could. It was what he wanted to see. I should run from the kindness of others so as not to get used to such treatment. Meanwhile, Jon Snow remained crouching where my body had once been, the same brooding look manipulating his features into a frown once more. Ramsay handed me the chains to the hounds again and jerked his head towards the kennels. "You will stay out of my way for the remainder of the day. If you are not in my bed after supper you will not be sleeping in it again. Are we clear, little Ghost?"

I didn't understand why I was being sent away. I couldn't remember that last time Ramsay had trusted me to leave his side. The thought almost excited me. Almost. Perhaps I had more to thank Jon Snow for than the fur coat that chased away the cold.

It was not until late that night when Ramsay arrived, steaming drunk and full of a rage I had not been subjected to since the battle of the bastards that I wished Jon Snow would leave this place and never return. Or at least leave me to rot in it first. Ramsay beat me harder than he ever had, he fucked me until my body felt as numb and broken on the inside as it did on the out and he spat every cursed word under the sun at me until I truly believed it. I think I asked him to kill me that night. I may have even begged. I would say I could remember but the only image that replayed in my mind was his face, distorted with hatred and alive with adrenaline as he came down on me like a storm at sea. I drowned in his words and swallowed them up until I couldn't breathe anymore. I let every part of his torture wash over me and strip me of anything I had left and I hoped to god this was the final time. I hoped he hit me hard enough I would never wake to endure another nightmare.

                                                                                                                                         *

"It's a miracle she isn't dead."

"With all due respect, Snow. I have seen victims with injuries far worse."

"Not victims with years worth of old injuries and malnutrition. By all the justice in the seven kingdoms he should die for this."

"I thought you were here to make peace?"

"I cannot make peace with a man that tortures women and feeds them to his dogs. How could I allow that monster to be around my own people?"

"I would lower my voice if I were you, Jon. As it stands, you are still in the Lion's Den and you have a lioness at your feet. Asleep or not, she could relay this to him. You do not know where her loyalties lie."

"I know she does not love him. That is enough."

The voices around me grew faint as I slipped in and out of a subdued state - I could feel the milk of the poppy making my eyes heavier than they needed to be. I wanted to open them and face my audience. 2 men? 3? I couldn't tell. Where was Ramsay? I had never woken without him nearby.

"How old do you think she is, Maester?"

"Not a year past 20." The voice that replied was not my Maester. It was a strangers voice, softer and more forgiving than the man that usually treated me. I didn't know where I was. The fog that had settled over my mind was beginning to send me into a panic - and so I fought it with all my might, struggling to open my eyes and look around me. I began to regain feeling in my body and the pain that accompanied it was enough to catch my breath and send me screaming all at once.

"Shit." A hushed voice accompanied by a warm hand pressed over my mouth hissed into the darkness. My eyes snapped open in a flurry of tears as the pain seared across my body. I caught a glimpse of the faces around me. Jon Snow stood front and center, leaning down with a finger pressed to his lips in hopes of silencing my screams. My hands shot up to grip the strong grip that covered my mouth and I clung to the fingers there desperately. It must have been his hand there because the other body in the room was scrambling at a table of potions and ointments in search of something I assumed would be intended to quieten me.

"Please. Be quiet." Jon Snow's voice was serious, urgent and warned of a nearby danger that was not far from the dimly lit room we were hovelled up in. I swallowed back the noises that gurgled in my throat and threatened to bubble up at any second. If Ramsay had told me to be quiet, it would have been an easier task. Fear was as good a motivation as any when you had nothing left but desperation.

The man that I assumed were the Maester returned to the bedside with a vile in his hands that he pressed to my lips immediately. "Drink." It was not a command so much as a gentle urging to heed his advice. I did so without thought. It would either kill me or ease the pain. I were lucky enough to be rewarded with the latter. The effects of the potion were almost immediate. Heat radiated across my already burning body and chased away the pain as it went. I felt myself sinking lower and lower into the bed beneath me and wondered briefly if perhaps it was a poison after all. If it were, I was grateful that death swaddled you in a comfortable embrace as it swallowed you whole.

"She will not wake for another few days, my Lord. It's best to let her rest."

There voices were so far away, as muffled as the world became when you dipped your head under water.

"But she will wake, Maester?"

Jon Snow was still close enough that I could feel his breath on my skin. I clung to his hands with the last of my strength and hoped he would not leave me here to die alone.

"Most certainly. She is past her hour of need. Now it's just for her body and mind to come back to us properly."

"Do you think he knows she is missing?"

Where they talking about Ramsay now? Was he here? Why would he allow me to be in a room with these strangers?

"No, my Lord. If truth be told, I think the bastard left her there to die with his dogs. And if I have the right to say it, I believe he did this because you were kind to a girl that you owed no 's what meddling with another man's woman does. It gets 'em all hot and bothered and they don't have no where to take that anger out 'cept the very thing that didn't want no part in it."

"I have enough guilt about this to last me a lifetime, Maester. I did not intend to sentence her to death when I offered her that coat."

"Ramsay's a fickle man, my lord. You shamed him once before and once again today in front of a standing ovation. That girl was his to starve to death, or freeze to death, or leave to die with the dogs. You would not allow that to happen. You cheated him that and if discovers she lives under your protection you will have another war on your hands."

I stopped listening to the two men bicker over the worth of my life then. Ramsay had left me to die with the dogs. It was done. I was as good as dead and gone the minute he decided that I were nothing more than dog meat to him. A deep sadness rinsed away the last of the aching in my bones and I allowed sleep to pull me under to escape the reality of what had happened. My savior had abandoned me; I were alone in a world that had never been kind to me; and I was in the hands of new men with new intentions that I knew nothing about. Perhaps if I willed it enough my body would begin to burn and melt away, turning to nothing but dust in the sheets that cocooned my broken bones. Perhaps my hair would turn ash and send flumes of smoke up into the castle. Perhaps that smoke would find Ramsay and his men and choke them in their sleep until all that was left were the hounds and their pups to roam the castle walls. Perhaps.

Or perhaps I would wake in a weeks time and face the world again with new welts and scars to face the break of day. None of it mattered. I only knew how to live in fear of the very man that had left me to die. What was left if not the tragedy of what I once was?


	3. Quiet Promises

I awoke to the sound of horse hooves and the faint hum of idle chatter. My eyes gave no aid to the confusion that consumed me as I could see nothing but a pitch black glow all around, though the tiniest peek of light cracked through the bottom of the apparent blindfold. I assumed I had been wearing it for quite some time, the fabric chafing against the already sore skin on my temples. The dull ache on my forehead was nothing compared to the rest of my body, though I didn't feel the need to break out into a hail of screams and cries anymore. Thankfully. I realized my body was not as cooperative as it had once been, the movements heavy and full of the same fog that had clouded my brain that night I had woken in the presence of Jon Snow. I removed the blindfold then, tossing it aside and letting the dull light of the dusk creep into the back of what seemed to be a small wagon. The struggle I had endured moving may also have been due to the piles and piles of rags and coats that buried me alive in the back of this sordid little wagon. Whether it was to hide my body or keep me warm it did not matter. Every sight and smell that greeted me were unfamiliar and did nothing to ease my nerves. The deep musk of other men and all the scents that came with them filled my nostrils, each rag and coat that covered my body all belonging to a different suitor it seemed. I could not find comfort in the warmth that the clothes provided - only the anxious thought of who had dressed me in them. The coat that wrapped around my body was clearly made for a man triple my size, it engulfed my frame and fought off the cold as well as the fur coats that the Lord used to wear on a days hunt. Ramsay

A flurry of questions flooded in too fast for me to catch a word of them; I shook my head and hoped that some memory of that dreadful night would come back to me. It didn't. All that flashed before my eyes was last thing I always saw before I was knocked unconscious. Him. Both angry and dripping with lust for blood as the massacre began and came to an end.

An ache spread across my chest as I remembered Jon and his Maester speaking about my condition. Beaten to near death and left in the kennels to be torn apart by the hounds. I had watched it done to a million other women and men - I had fooled myself into thinking I meant more to the Lord than the gutterwhores he strung up for the thrill of it; much like a delusional child caught up in a fairytale. I had been nothing more than a toy on the shelf he forgot to rid himself of. Perhaps the dogs had not mauled me to death because I was so past my expiry date. Or perhaps they had grown so used to my company they no longer saw me as a promising meal. That same ache settled over my chest in what I assumed was a new wave of sadness - the weight of it growing heavier with each passing realization until my breathing became labored and I had to drag myself out of the pity that had consumed me.

"You're awake." Jon Snow stood at the foot of the wagon with a hand readied on the handle of his sword. Perhaps he expected me to dive across the mountain of coats and attack him for saving my life? The thought were more tempting than the sarcasm gave way to - death would have been simpler.

"Where am I?"

"Nearly 100 leagues away from the man that tried to kill you."

"Distance only makes for a more entertaining hunt, my King. If Ramsay knows I live, the chase will have only just begun."

"There will be no hunt. Unless those hounds normally leave scraps of bone to prove they finished a meal. Ramsay has no knowledge of your escape. "

"Did I escape, Sir? Or was I removed from the Castle by the likes of you and your men?" I know Ramsay will see no difference between the two options when he eventually caught me, but it was worth getting the story straight now. Perhaps it would spare me another beating before he strung me up and slit my throat. I noticed Jon had been growing increasingly concerned with each passing word I spoke. I suppose you expect a damsel to be a little more grateful about her life being handed back to her - Gods, even I wanted to shake myself out of this awful stupor, but the fear that had wrapped around my body and mind did nothing to help the dried up gratitude that caught in my throat.

"I owed you this kindness. It were my fault you ended up in those cellars." A noble King with a noble cause. As tragic as the tales told.

"Were it not your kindness that confirmed my death the first time, my King?"

A pause. "Yes." Another long silence stretched out tiny wagon as it rocked along the beaten path. "I intend to make sure that doesn't happen this time around, if you would allow me to do so. And please - stop calling me King. Jon will do just fine." It was then that Jon Snow offered out that same leatherbound hand across the heap of fabric. I didn't see much of the choice I had, if there were one, but Jon did not glare down at me when I hesitated or lunge for a handful of hair when I didn't rush to my feet. So cautiously, when I had looked around every corner of the wagon in case some sort of cruel trap were to be set upon me, I outstretched an arm and let his fingers wrap around my own. Instead of being dragged to my feet or forced to my knees I was allowed to rise slowly before him - every bone in my body screaming in protest for respite already. I merely winced and Jon's other arm shot out beside me to catch the weight of a potential fall. The sudden movement wrecked my nerves and I snatched my hand away from him, all wide eyed with my hackles raised as I waited for the first strike.

I stared in disbelief as instead of two fists forming at his side, Jon Snow raised both hands with open palm and waited for my next move. Kind eyes and kind words did nothing to salvage the former faith I had in the human race. I had seen Ramsay charm woman after woman tirelessly time and time again - even when the warnings and awful tales of the menace of Winterfell poured out amongst the townfolk... Not a single woman listened, or perhaps they believed they would be different. I would not make the same mistake.

I did not know Jon Snow. I did not trust him or the gentle nature that he seemed to possess. In fact, I didn't trust anyone at all.

"Please." Again I was brought back to reality by the sound of Jon's voice, as gentle as the rest of him as he offered me a hand once more. I bit back the pain that engulfed my body and stepped toward him, taking his hand and steadying myself on the back of the wagon.

"Now that you're awake I'll get the men to stop at the next Inn we come across. You can have a hot meal and a bath when we arrive. I didn't let them stop at the last one in case the wagon were robbed with you asleep in it." I think he wanted to crack a smile then, but he composed himself with all the dignity of any Lord or Lady.

"Thank you, my King."

"Jon." He corrected.

"Yes. Thank you, Jon." I think I meant it.

                                                                                                                           *

The next Inn we came across was a quaint, quiet little place with no more than ten punters at the bar demanding ale - six of which were Jon's men. The decor on the walls had began to peel away and reveal years worth of vinework and mould seeping just below the surface, ruining the otherwise rather convincing mirage that this was a wellkept establishment. No one could blame the plump Innkeeper that bustled around readily after every man that took shelter in her rent-a-room home; it were near impossible to keep the drought out of old brickwork like this and she did a remarkable job of making the dusty little corners with mismatched tables and chairs look almost inviting.

"It's an honor to have you here, My Lords." She was near on glowing by the time she reached the table Jon and closest advisors were situated on. "I've got your rooms ready for the night and the girls will run a hot basin in whichever you like, sirs."

"Just the Lady's, please. The men have the washroom outside." Jon smiled with the first bit of warmth I had seen touch his face since meeting him - It stretched out his worn features and lit them up, ironing out some of the lines he had clearly acquired from all the time he spent frowning.

We didn't stay at the table for long, as the evening went on many more travelers began to come in from their journey's, weary eyes skeptical of the bulk of men in what I assumed were their local Keep. As the party all went upstairs I stuck close to the only man I knew, trying to muster up the courage to ask for some privacy if I had to wash. It turns out I didn't need to.

"Your room is to the left. I'll be in the one neighboring it if you need anything."

"The room is mine alone?" I did nothing to mask the disbelief in my tone, staring at the door to the left with narrowed eyes. If my luck was anything to go by there were twenty men already situated in there.

"Yes. Is that alright?" Jon frowned once again, a hand raising to massage a crick at the back of his neck. It was only then I realised how tired he looked. How long had he made his men ride for before this long awaited respite? Why would he push himself to such limits for the sake of a nearly dead girl? I didn't know how to answer him without seemingly completely disrespectful. Every man had his limits. I did not intend to test Jon Snow's.

"You promise no one is in there, sir?"

"Jon."

"Jon." I echoed.

No answer came to my question, he simply opened the door and guided me inside with a gentle hand at the small of my back. I didn't resist, though the bile in my stomach threatened to rise as he closed the door behind us. I should have kept my mouth shut. I should have taken the otherwise empty room without saying a fucking word and had a bath like I was told.

"I didn't mean to question you, my Lord. I only meant that-" I stumbled, not knowing how to save what I had already ruined. I stepped away from him and turned around quickly, both hands tucking deep into the pockets of the winter coat, wrapping it tighter around me in hopes it would stay there like glue if he tried to remove it.

"I am not Ramsay." The King in the North was calm as he walked over to the bath that had been drawn, checking the temperature and gesturing to the room around him. "I promise there is no one hiding in this room. I promise no one will come in to this room while you are here and I promise I did not take you from Winterfell to treat you in the same way he treated you. So please, sit down and speak with me."

So I did as the man asked. I sat with him in the room, albeit on the opposite side, and waited for him to talk. It did not take him long to find his voice. Jon Snow had many questions about Ramsay and how I came to know a man so cruel. He also wished to know what Ramsay really did to his victims; and what really happened to his sister during her relatively short stay with the Lord. I answered as honestly as I could, though I would only speak in hushed tones in fear Ramsay would hear my treachery all the way in Winterfell. Jon did not urge me to tell him things I couldn't get past my lips and he did not threaten to beat the answers out of me when I had nothing left to say to him. As the minutes turned to hours I found my own voice. Eventually I told the Lord things I hadn't dared whispered in the confines of the castle in fear of Ramsay catching wind of them. With the same naivety of the child I once was, I made Jon Snow make promises to me that I knew he could not vow to keep. I told him Ramsay would find me, eventually. In the same way his Direwolf would hunt the deer in the Godswood. It was merely nature and there was nothing he or I could do to stop it - despite his strong protest that Ramsay was powerless now. It was his fault that I would now be tortured to death, and so my only wish was that Jon Snow be the one to kill me when Ramsay got a rope around my neck. To spare me a single moment in the company of the man that were a monster.

The King agreed on one condition.

I was to call him Jon.

I don't remember falling asleep.

Howls broke out with all the ferocity of the wolves of the wood as I broke free from my slumber; jolting me into a high state of alert as horse hooves trampled outside of the window. The all too familiar sound of the bloodhounds sent a shock wave of dread up my spine, paralyzing me into position as reality slapped me good morn.

I shouldn't have looked out of that window. I didn't need to confirm my suspicions. I didn't need to see a pack of 20 men and 40 dogs all surrounding the crumbling Innkeep and I didn't need to see him mounted on his steed with a smile that could raise the Seven Hell's. Ramsay.


	4. Clever Girl

The stables I took shelter in were rotting and full of shit. Shit and flies and little old me; all scrambled up with a thick paste of hay and rainwater so putrid I forgot what fresh air smelt like after only minutes in the muck. I could scarcely breathe as I clawed at the dirt piles and smeared them over my body. Any and every part of skin was covered profusely, my hands rubbing it in so deep I believed if the hounds didn't catch scent of me and sound my death the infections that would follow this torture would.

I hadn't waited around to hear King Snow's great plan to lead Ramsay away from my trail. He underestimated my Lord and he would certainly underestimate the noses of those damn dogs if I gave him the chance. Instead I had dived, quite literally, out of the far window of the keep, rubbing my back against every tree and shrub that led to the nearby forest before ducking into the stables in hope of throwing the dogs off of my scent. The forest would undoubtedly lead to a stream. It would be the perfect explanation as to why they lost my trail.

I could hear the distressed shouts of the plump Innkeeper, her voice both shrill and demanding explanation as Ramsay's men began to ransack the place. It were only when another man's voice boomed out across the grounds that the clattering outside of the stables went quiet. It seems the King in the North could defend his people even without a small army at the ready.

I dragged my body behind the bale of hay, pulling it all over me and peeking through the smallest crack in the splintering wood to get a view of what was to come next. I was limited to ground vision, but it was enough to paint a picture of how close my demise was coming.

Men's boots and dogs paws all tore up the dirt surrounding the Keep, some pacing closer to the stables than others. Ramsay would not leave a stone unturned, these stables would be searched; all I could do was hope they sent a dog in first to save themselves breathing in the fumes.

"A mad goose chase further North over the sake of some whore. Should of killed 'er long ago anyway. She ain't even the best looking out of his pickin's." Guards began talking amongst themselves within earshot.

"Oh, 'e ain't here to kill her. That man never kills when he's this angry. She'll end up like that sniveling wreck 'e used to drag 'round with him."

"That cockless fellow?"

"'Aye, that's him. Pathetic excuse of a man that was."

I had watched Ramsay take the man that once was Theon Greyjoy and turn him into nothing more than a shell of a person, tortured and traumatized over many months until the poor man could barely speak a word without crying. I would sooner slit my own throat before allowing Ramsay to subject me to those conditions.

It seemed the guards were not invested in the hunt they had been dragged on, only chattering and lighting cigarettes between themselves; so lost in their own conversation they did not appear to notice their Lord arrive behind them. I did not need to see his face to know it was Ramsay that swept across the grounds towards his men, his best bloodhound at his side - if I had not been eye level with his boots more times than this then what sort of slave would I have been? I strained my neck and caught a glimpse of a fine blade being unsheathed from his side as he honed in on the lazy men standing idly near my hideout. I knew how to recognize the sound of a man choking on his own blood. It seems Ramsay would kill when he was this angry. Even if it wasn't me.

First the man's knees came into view as he slumped forward, then two hands as he crumpled in on himself and slid into the dirt with his mouth wide open and dripping with his own saliva and blood. I held my breath as the body collapsed to the ground, dead eyes staring into the tiny crack in the wood to meet my own.

"Jon Snow seems to think we have upset our dearest Landlady. All of you will go in to apologize to the fat oath and help realign her tables." Ramsay's voice was cut throat. The guards moved without hesitation.

The grounds were empty all except for him and his hound. I could hear him breathing deep, sucking in the air and no doubt surveying the surroundings for my most likely escape route.

A whistle sounded from between his teeth and the pack of 40 strong dogs hailed down on the area in a frenzy to please their master. I held my breath and pressed back into the stables.

"Sic 'em."

The hounds had been released. Howls were let off immediately and tied my stomach into sickening knots as they bolted in every direction to follow my scent. From the door of the keep to the edge of the woods to the stables where wet, black noses poked around the entrance in hopes of finding something larger than a rat. Ramsay moved amongst them slowly, side stepping in an attempt to quieten his heavy boots. He searched every corner of those grounds, seemingly avoiding the stables on purpose. I hoped that the Lord was not toying with me. If he knew I was here it was a matter of seconds before the game reached an end. It seemed that the smell of the stables really had thrown off the dogs, as not one entered and followed it around to my sordid little corner to drag me out by my limbs. It was only a matter of time. I could hear boots crunching frost bitten leaves and the way the wind stopped blowing around the stables as a figure shadowed the doorframe.

"Clever girl."

In that moment the blood in my body ran as cold as the Winter that was to come. My knees tucked tight to my chest and I curled up as small as I could; wishing with everything I had left that I would burst into flames here and now before Ramsay was upon me.

"I didn't think you'd ever up and leave you know, little Ghost." The lord was practically purring now, slinking around each corner with catlike grace as circled the stalls; searching.

"I thought you would lay down and die with much more dignity than sending me on a hunt only to find you covered in shit and squealing like a pig before a butcher. I don't mind though. I've learnt from my mistakes..." I pressed both hands over my ears as his voice grew louder, eyes squeezing shut in an attempt to block him out.

"Out." One word. A sob caught in the back of my throat. I shook my head and threw my weight back at the wall behind me, eyes still tightly shut. "I hope you had a nice time outside of the walls, little Ghost. If it means anything, I had hoped you would have lasted longer than a night. I love a good chase." Voice soft as silk - toying with me like the cat who caught the mouse. "However," it became cut throat, biting into me as it rang around the dark, dank little stall. "I own you. I decide when your awful little existence comes to an end and I won't have bitches like yourself making a mockery of me!" I swallowed the bile as it rose from my gut and filled my mouth, I steadied my breathing as it hitched in my throat and I did not let a single tear fall down my cheeks as he raged closer to drag my now limp body from the stables.

Terror is cold, it washes over you and leaves you lifeless under its hold and I could not fight it. I had never been able to fight him.

"Do you intend to inspire the others to attempt to leave my town and outrun the hounds, huh?! Do you want them to join your pitiful cause and run with you back to their bleak, agonizing lives on the outside, you fucking gutter rat?!" He was seething now, red hot anger bubbling up from under his skin and animating him into a living nightmare. I could hardly breath. A vice like grip tightened my arms to my sides and I was forced to face him, my eyes fixating on his burning rage.

I was dropped to the ground and crumpled there lifelessly, covered in horse shit, snow, weeks worth of wounds and too frightened to call for help from my newfound saviours. I stared into the window at Jon Snow and his men, all of whom were making rather dramatic gestures and clearly arguing amongst themselves. I wondered if one of them had sold me out before we departed from Winterfell. Ramsay was a powerful man, after all.

"This time, I will watch my dogs rip your head from your shoulders and collect your bones to keep in my bedside table."

A whistle sounded. I waited for the dogs to come. They never did.

A shadow blocked out the sun above me and I wondered if the darkness that had swallowed up my body was the beginning of the end. Instead the shadow was accompanied by a low, long growl unlike any dog under Ramsay's command. My eyes snapped open, forced to face reality once more. The direwolf had been silent in it's approach, yet here it stood. Towering above my body and lowering itself as a bitch would shield her pup. In it's jowls hung the lifeless body of Ramsay's best bloodhound, it's head near ripped from it's shoulders and still dripping blood before it's Master. It stared at Ramsay with a fire in it's eyes and I watched him get to his knees before the beast and stare right back. The man was not afraid, not even angry that it had stolen the life of his best mongrel.

"It seems you've upset the wildlife as well as the locals, Lord Bolton." Jon Snow marched out to the scene and stared down at me briefly, that same sadness touching his gaze before turning to clay once more as he turned to face Ramsay. "And it would seem the girl is alive as you said. Unfortunately, my wolf seems to have gotten to her first. You said you intended to kill her anyway, no? What use is she to you now?"

Ramsay smiled up at Jon, both arms raised in the air as he stayed submitted in front of the Direwolf who had not moved an inch since Jon's arrival. "I intended to use her bones to pick my teeth with." He mocked, a toothy grin sprawled across his face. It was met with a sharper growl from the wolf - who now bared each and every one of it's teeth right back at him, it's snout pushed back into an angry snarl.

"You're disgusting." Jon spat.

"Whether you think me cruel or kind - that girl was mine to kill."

"Perhaps you'd like to tell that to Ghost and see if she'll give her back, my Lord?"

Ramsay glowered at him and spat at the floor before his feet, turning back to face the wolf with a controlled sigh.

"Perhaps I'll return for my bodycount when the wolf has grown bored of it's new toy. If you'd be so gracious as to call off the animal so I can return to my horse, King Snow."

"Of course. If you would be so kind as to take your men and mutts with you on your journey home."

"Of course." Echoed Ramsay, his voice growing tighter by the second. The game no longer entertained him; he had lost, after all.

"It's settled then." Jon whistled and the Wolf finally stopped baring those dagger like teeth, smacking it's jowls shut and pressing closer to my body in the snow. Did the animal think I was hidden beneath the great bulk of fur and muscle as she crouched over me?

Ramsay stood slowly, eyes never leaving the animal as he spoke to me.

"Jon Snow is a busy man, little Ghost. Remember that when he is away to fight his wars with that creature by his side you will be alone in this world again - without a wolf to watch over you when I come for you again. Don't doubt that I will." With that he wiped the snow and dirt from his riding gear and left me there in the dirt to swallow those words over and over again until they had been fully digested.

The wolf above me was radiating heat beneath that glistening fur coat and I reached out, first stroking the hairs down tentatively before tangling my fingers in the white mass and pressing my face into the soft spot of it's neck. I think it knew that I was saying thank you. And if it didn't it accepted the small figure that hung from it's neck and did nothing to fight against the affection - the great beast stayed wrapped up there in the snow with me until I felt safe enough to really breathe again. Even if it came in ragged sobs that reminded me that the tears had begun to fall.

"Can you walk?" Gentle as ever, the King in the North crouched in the snow beside me, rubbing a spot between the wolf's ears as he spoke. I looked at him and tried to find the words to speak again, but the fear that had choked me earlier was not yet ready to let go of my voice and so I merely nodded instead, letting the tears fall freely even under the watchful gaze of Jon Snow."I'd offer to carry you, but I think you've got a bit of horse shit on your face."

We both laughed then, it was not joyful and it did not chase away the sadness, but for a moment the laughter made it easier and I found the words to speak.

"Thank you, Jon Snow."


	5. Drunk like a Woman

The night following Ramsay's hunt I had the longest bath of my life. I had cleaned the majority of the wretched substances off of my body on the grounds earlier with a rag and bucket - not having the audacity to even enter the Landlady's home in the state I smelt. The bath was different though. Lavender stems all floated around me, filling my nostrils with a sweet, soothing scent as the steam from near boiling water rose into the air. That same steam opened my pores and let the water seep deeper than ever into my skin to rid itself of any dirt that remained. My hair was a dark tangle of black that floated in the basin with me; nimble fingers eventually easing the mane into the soft waves that once sprung up to frame my face. It was as luxurious a bath as I could have ever asked for and I breathed deep, savoring the privacy of this moment. I had not had a bath alone in over 5 years - or any bath with hot water in over 10. I couldn't recall the last time I had more than 20 minutes to allow my thoughts to roam so freely as to the tangles of my hair or the lavender in a room. Let alone the hour long soak that was currently taking up my evening. I had even been offered a handmaid to wash away my troubles, but I declined as graciously as I imagined the Lady's the were usually offered such privileges would have done.

"Ghost?"

A knock sounded at the door that had me up and out the bath in milliseconds; water sloshing over the otherwise clean oak floor. I scolded myself and pushed back the fear that threatened to creep up once more. I would not continue to wear my worries like a second skin. Death would come for me when it chose to and it was currently riding South to console it's own bruised ego - not knocking at my door. "A moment, please." I found a towel and wrung out the excess water of my hair back into the basin, contemplating getting back in it after dealing with the visitor. I then proceeded to wrap it tightly around my body, along with both arms to hold it all together and cover some of the ugly bruises that still marred my skin. "Come in."

The door hitched open and in came the King in the North, a small bundle of clothes folded in his arms and a hint of rose touching his cheeks as he caught sight of the towel. "Apologies, my Lady. I only meant to bring you your clothes. Supper is being served in a moment, I didn't know whether you wanted it brought to your room."

"I'm no Lady, Jon. I don't deserve such treatment. Especially not from a King." I walked over and took the pile of clothes from his arms, inspecting each garment and spotting an all too familiar lace dress hidden within the mix. "How did this get here?" I asked, fingering the thin fabric and holding it before him; my voice a mix of confusion and accusation.

I could have smiled when his cheeks deepened in color. I didn't though, it were not a kind thing to embarrass a man as dignified as Jon Snow. Not after everything he had done for me.

"It's what I found you in. The maids here just washed it and put it with the rest of the garments they managed to find for you. The Landlady told me they looked a good fit."

"Do I have to wear it?" Ramsay had picked each dress I wore for a long time - each becoming less of a dress and more of an undergarment than the last.

"From what I can remember it didn't look very effective at covering your body - perhaps something a little warmer."

"Men dress warmer than women."

"Then we'll dress you like a man." He smiled, gesturing to the tunics and thick hide trousers amongst the mix. Relief washed over me and I smiled, hugging the clothes close to my frame and gesturing to the door.

"I won't be a moment. Could I join you for supper?"

"Only because you no longer smell like a horses arse."

I watched him leave my bedroom and shook my head with a weary smile. Jon Snow was not such a serious being after all - learning to trust him became easier with every taunt and jibe.

The Landlady prepared a great feast for Jon and his men and the winter soldiers ravaged the tables and the ale hungrily, asking for more as it please them and tipping generously with gold and silver and coppers alike. I watched them all with narrowed eyes as the drinks washed down their food and washed away their sense. Drunk words began to slur across the room, not hateful or harmful in any way, but loud and full of song and merry cheer as they drank well into the night past the dinner. Even Jon himself, whom I had not seen relax for more than a moment seemed to sink comfortably into his chair and share stories and the songs of home with the brothers around him. I ate my fill and tried the ale, a bitter concoction that pricked up every hair on my neck as I tried forcing back sip after sip. It became easier after the first two cups. I began to talk to the men of the night's watch and heard a thousand great tales of the white walkers beyond the wall and the mammoths and giants that now manned the wall with the likes of wildlings and freefolk alike. A unity heard of never before. Every man at that table, no matter how bold their own tales got were all in awe of the man that faced the Night King himself. Jon Snow seemed to have a very loyal set of men at his side - they did nothing but praise him for his deeds and the choices he made for the people of the north. I felt nothing but humility from the King as each man spoke; not once did he agree or thank them for their kind words - only ever shaking his head like the fools around him were drunk and nothing more. I would put my coin on the 10 men that believed in Jon Snow more than I ever would the King and his modesty.

The evening turned to night and the night grew cold as the men began to head back to their rooms - some enticing the maids to join them on their journey up the stairs. I had consumed enough ale to put down a rather small horse and I so I decided staying at the table for the foreseeable future was the best (and only) option I had.

"Dress like a man. Drink like a man. Drunk like a woman." Jon Snow mocked me without menace in his voice. A hand stopped my shoulder to steady the room as it began to spin and I looked up to meet the eyes of the man that saved my life - twice. "I believe it is time to call it a night, little Lady."

"I believe the floor will sink beneath my feet if I stand, little Snow." I rested my head back against the wall behind me and took a deep breath to try and steady my vision as it blurred and distorted the candlelit room. I think Jon was laughing at me, though I couldn't lift my head back up to look at him anymore. My head had become far too heavy for that.

Everything sounded so unimportant when you were intoxicated. I could hear Jon talking, laughing and even calling to me as I curled back in my seat and yet no urgency to reply to the sound of his voice came to me. Only a hiccup of laughter as I realized I had begun to fall asleep as he spoke. "Ghost? I'm going to take you to bed now." A shift in weight and my head no longer rested on the cold wooden planks behind my chair, instead it was propped against the chest of the man that had lifted me into his arms. If I closed my eyes to block out the way the light pulsed and made a ringing in my ears I could hear Jon Snow's heartbeat - steady and strong as he scaled the Keep and took me to what I assumed was my own room. It still smelt of lavender.

"Do you need the fire?" Jon's breath was warm and smelt of rich wine. I gazed at the faint scars and creases that carved and defined his face. The way the stubble on his cheeks shadowed his jaw and cut a line sharper than steel from ear to ear. The eyes in the center were the real focal point though, the small ring of copper near eliminated into a coal black to match the locks of hair that fell down his face. The contrast of weatherbeaten skin and those dark curls only seemed to soften his features - it did not seem as harsh as it once had in the light of day. Perhaps it was just the way the candlelight licked his skin or perhaps it was the way the ale had distorted the world, but Jon Snow almost looked handsome in that moment. Even with the dirt still stuck to his face and the smell of wine hanging from his every word.

"You're warm." The words slipped out from my mouth and hung in the air between us. Jon's brows furrowed and distorted his face into it's usual brooding expression. He shook his head.

"You're drunk."

"I'm cold."

"Then I'll start a fire."

The sobering King did just that. After lying down my body in the bed beside us he knelt by the fire and set to work. I lied there soundlessly and watched the way his hands moved deftly among the flames, manipulating the wood and kindling until the hearth was strong enough to fight away the frost on it's own. Silence ascended upon the room as the crackle of the flames began to melt away the last of Jon's apparent resolve.

"Still cold?" He asked, albeit cautiously as he approached the bed.

"Still cold." I murmured, the alcohol beginning to set a heavy weight over my eyes, forcing them closed even as I fought to keep them open and intent on the King.

"You're an awful liar." He stated, but after a moment I felt the dip of the mattress as a body began to climb into it, the cheap sheets rising up to his jaw and well over my head. It was quiet under the soft linen - and it was easier to lie about my body temperature than it was to admit to Jon Snow that the World felt a little safer by his side than it did without him there to frown away the bad thoughts and things that dwelled within it. Sleep came easily then. It wasn't hard to succumb to a drunken slumber when the King in the North kept guard over your body.

"You'll be the death of me, Ghost." He muttered.

"I promise I'll make it quick." I jested at him with the last of my strength and laughter rumbled in his chest. I knew then that Jon Snow would stay the night. Even if he felt that the honorable thing to do would be to leave the drunken girl alone in her bed - he would stay because I had asked him to do so and that meant more to him than silly courtesies I wanted to play no part in.

In that moment I needed the man - not the king.


	6. Winter Blanket

The morning had been bleak upon the rising. With a heavy head and heart my body protested at the dreary sunlight streaming through the cracks in the window; accompanied by a draught that caught the bedsheets and had them rustling in the cold, damp room. The basin from the night before no longer looked inviting, lavender having sunk to the bottom and dissolving into nothing more than fleks of purple that made the once inviting water look more like a horse's trough. The stables came flooding back to me at that thought and I clutched my temple in an attempt to push it back down and swallow away the anxiety that pumped my body full of adrenaline and made my already sore head pound harder. Now was not the time for self pity.

I rose tenderly from the now empty sheets, thankful that Jon had already begun his morning without waiting to watch me regret my behaviour from the eve before. Stupid girl... Ramsay's voice echoed in my mind, haunting my thoughts for the remainder of a very tender morning of licking my wounds and preparing for the dawn. I knew Ramsay would be hot on Jon's tail until I were dead - full of a burning rage and evergrowing bloodlust for the chase that lie ahead. Jon Snow was no longer a safe bet - he could not outrun my hunter, nor could he predict the lengths I knew my former Master would truly go to in the attempt to carry out my death sentence. However, if he continued on the road ahead he could buy me time. Precious time. Foolish or not I would not ask Jon's permission; the man were too honourable to agree letting me walk the wilderness. Besides, if he did know and Ramsay got a noose around his neck I refused to believe he would have hold his tongue for the sake of a gutter rat. Either way, I could not lie down and wait to be caught by the beast that hid in the shadows.

It was time to run.

                                                                                                                                  *

Four days. That was how long I had suffered the bitter winter and the endless downpour after disbanding from the King in the North. I had crept away and sunk into the background of the forest to the east and kept moving until my legs turned to lead and gave out beneath me. Even then, body burning and the deep snow seeming more inviting by the hour I could not fall into it's icy embrace; the distant sounds of Ramsay's hounds pushing me forward even in my desolate state. A fever had taken me after the first day, sickness had followed the next and the hounds had soon caught wind of my near demise, no doubt catching scent of their foul prey and storming ahead with excited chatter and hungry jowls raking through the forest in my wake. Tears had rolled profusely down my cheeks throughout the journey, burning the withered and torn skin that the frost had already beaten raw.

Hindsight slapped me harder than any man could have. Ramsay had known he would spook me out of the bars of safety Jon had provided simply by visiting the Inn - looking back I doubt he had even left the side of the road, simply waiting like a fox at a rabbit hole for it to dare poke its head into the light. Stupid whore.. His voice boomed somewhere deep in my subconscience, carving the words deep into both skin and bone - finally pressing the last of my resolve into the earth beneath and burying it alive. Numb fingertips clawed at the snow, but my body no longer listened to the screaming urgency of the trailing pack, inching closer as the world grew dark and trees faded to nothing more than shadows of looming giants threatening to swoop down on me with wooden limbs in a thorn-filled embrace. I sank below the surface of the snow and let it begin to melt and wrap itself around my frame, taking me more gently than I had expected as I relaxed wearily into its hold. A self made coffin of debris and frost clung tight to my already sodden clothes as howls turned to snarls and once distant sounds became a cry as loud as a babe in the night. Perhaps if I stay still enough they will simply run over my body and trample me into the warm earth that promised to swallow me up if I could just sink a little lower.

"Did you really think death would be this easy, Ghost?"

Perhaps not. A hand snaked it's way into my winter blanket and dragged me from it's comfort, forcing me to face the darkness ahead. Yet now, amongst that darkness stood men, horses, dogs and torches all lighting the way like a golden lit path to sacrifice a lamb to gods. The bustling group of man and dog did nothing to drown him out, like a moth to flame I could still only stare lifelessly at that same hateful face that had tortured my days and haunted my dreams for so many moons now. That same face leaned in without any emotion plastered on it, teasingly slow to ensure my stomach knotted itself a thousand times over to try and keep back the bile rising from it. I hated it when he was calm. Anger was manageable - I would prefer Ramsay erupt at the seams, to beat me til I'm bloody all the while spewing out every spit and curse that could send me to the seven hells before ever going as eerily calm as he looked in that moment. It felt as if the wind held its breathe when he began to speak and I mimicked it effortlessly, my lungs seeming to forget their one purpose as they too listened to his bitter, bitter words.

"Our journey together has just begun, my sweet. You will truly know what it means to wish for death at the will of my hand and my hand alone when I am through with your meaningless existence, you cunt!" He spat the word viciously, lunging and letting his teeth sink deep into my cheek. A wretched scream erupted from my throat only to fall on deaf ears, but with sharp teeth still resting against my skin and a pool of blood wetting his chapped lips I caught dead eyes glaze over into a new darkness. Calm once more.

"There are many, many games I wish to play with you before the hunt is truly over, little Ghost."

Those same lips pressed a kiss to my temple and I closed my eyes, imagining somewhere far away where I could end my life in peace and let the ravens make scraps of my carcass. If only it could be that easy.

Orders were made and men began to move. Dogs began to chatter amongst themselves as the troop set of and suddenly I was clinging to the back of a man that I had so briefly evaded. As opposed to a breath of fresh air it were as if the world outside of my already dismal existence had poisoned what little privilege I had left - the one man that had kept me alive for so long intended to string me up and watch me die. If Death were a man, I pray he take me now and could only hope he was kinder than the fate that awaited me if I made it back to Winterfell.


	7. Saviour

After arrival at Winterfell the Maester had patched me up, brought down my fever and informed my captor that the hour of need was over yet again - much to my dismay. If Death were a man then he was an asshole for leaving me in a life where everyone wished for my death. Even the Maester himself began growing contempt with the ever-growing chore of keeping me alive. Not Ramsay though, he watched with burning eyes, all riled up and full of the same excitement the hounds emit when let loose on a fox. I remembered a not so distant time ago where I could pretend to be brave whilst looking at him, faux courage and pursed lips awaiting anything he could think to throw at me. Now panic struck every time I caught his gaze, my lungs catching at the thought of all the things he may do to me. All of those twisted nights past where he would let loose and play drunken games with sober whores before slitting their throats. All of the things I had been lucky enough to only bare witness to and take no part in. By the Gods, he used to sit me in his lap and we would watch them die together. It were only a matter of time before I be the one bleeding out in his sheets for a mere minutes amusement. You didn't know sickness until you met someone like him. You could never know. Days past in Wintetfell and after a good hiding had been implored to ensure my place at the heel of his boot were reestablished, darkness came one evening and upon awakening that same darkness never went away. Not for a long time.

                                                                                                                                     *

A small cellar. With no tell of day or night, no visits from the outside world, not a single sound of life outside of this hellhole except the occasional rustling of a hatch in the door where mouldy bread and a small bag of water was thrown through it. Sometimes, the water bag was empty or filled with piss; Ramsay's idea of mockery no doubt.  
I knelt in a puddle of my own mess, sores forming all over an already broken body and a previously fragile mind crumbling much like the walls around. I could only guess it had been days or weeks or more. A punishment like no other I had endured at his hand. A beating had started and finished before you had time to process the event, normally left wrecking your brain as you tried to make sense of the onslaught endured.  _This_ , was something new.  
After some time I forgot about the cravings of food and water, instead replaced by the growing urgency to hear another voice; to feel another's touch; to have absolutely any form of interaction with another life as my mind began to cave in on itself hopelessly. I did not want to die alone. Tears followed by begging followed by hollow screams that rang around me. Still no one ever came. I cried his name out in what little sleep I could manage. I cried for the very man that had put me here and wanted desperately for him to come back and save me - to hold me, shake and shame me, scream and shout and tell me all that I had done wrong so I never made this mistake again. I made pitiful promises of loyalty and subservience. I howled like the wolves of the Godswood and beat both hands bloody on the door in hopes anyone in the land might hear me cry. An increasing hysteria had built up and boiled over in that tiny, sordid little room and I felt every stitch and seam fall away painfully as I became undone in the darkness. I could not stuff the sanity back into my mind nor tie a knot and keep hold of what may have been left of my dignity or pride. I felt as if a poison had been pumped into the chamber - warped thoughts and a failing body protesting as every toxin and bad thought seemed to spew out into the gutter and then come back up to haunt my waking hours.  
Crumbling walls and floors that cracked beneath my weight held me captive - pressing a deft hand along the edges of my prison I brushed scarce vegetation on the brickwork and envisioned the vinework deftly wrapping itself around my body in an embrace as the world continued to bustle around me while I fall away into the arms of the greenery. Alone.  
I could feel myself beginning to go beyond the point of no return; thoughts now only a scramble of pity and promises and  _him_.  
 _Ghost is what he had named me. For that was all that would remain of me when he grew tired of my body, voice and mind._  
The words had never rang more true.

                                                                                                                                *

Slumber was snatched away when the faint sound of a key turning in a rusted lock snapped me back to consciousness. I dived at it without hesitation, throwing my entire body full force at the wooden door and slamming into it with all of my woeful might. A feral noise lurched itself from somewhere deep in my throat and a foot snapped out to knock harder at the door. I couldn't bring myself to speak. I had nothing to say. No more words left to give. Desperation made the blood in my veins begin to boil up and itch insatiably, ever fibre of my being locking its sole attention on that  _stupid_  fucking door. Welted skin was beginning to crawl away from the flesh it belonged to and I screamed at the door keeper to help me. No words came out, only sounds you wouldn't wish to hear even an animal make in its final few hours. The ability to speak was lost on me. Terror turned to a heavy fog in the air and began to steal the last of the oxygen left in this cesspit - choking me out of my stupor. As terror held my breathe captive and tears flooded my vision I let my hands claw blindly at the room around. I felt nails rip back as they found wood and dug deep, splintering and fracturing much alike the sanity that had once inhabited my mind.  
" ** _Enough!_** "  
A voice. I froze. The door opened. A figure stood ahead and yet somehow the lowering sun still blinded eyes that were so used to darkness.  
"Stand up and come to me, little Ghost.." The voice was back. His voice.  
For all he was and is and ever will be, in that moment I could have dropped to my knees and begged him to hold me. The words, though with no love in them were like a song a mother would sing to a babe and I clung to the echo of them as they rolled around my hollow mind. Tears slid down stained cheeks as I moved out into the light, muddying the pristine floor with every tentative step forward. Disbelief that he had come for me washed over my thoughts, yet there he stood; expression unreadable as I edged closer, one hand thoughtlessly raising itself to grasp the fabric hanging from his shoulders. It was swatted down with a hand so quick I missed the motion of it. I flinched, but steadied myself before him. Stepping back meant I might stumble into the abyss of the door behind. I could hear it, calling me, the brickwork hungry to snatch me back up and eat me alive.  
"Did you miss me, Ghost?" Words like silk purred and wrapped themselves around my resolve, rooting both feet to the spot. I felt as if the world had ended and all that was left in the ashes was the man before me.  
"Yes, sir." My heart ached in my chest at the words. Guilt and sadness outweighed by the truth of the statement.  
The response was met with a smile and he offered a hand out as if the foul and pathetic creature before him didn't offend his very being. My own darted out and snatched up the gesture, starving to touch anything that wasn't cold and damp and covered in shit. His hands were warm and inviting and my fingers traced the skin in disbelief as he let me cling to him with the same urgency and gratitude of a child lost in a war zone.  
" _Come_."  
I followed him aimlessly from room to room around the castle as he gathered a peculiar pile of items in his arms. Had I really been here the whole time? Tucked away in the walls as soldier and servant alike went about their business while my senses were starved to death or anything other than bleak nothingness?  
Arriving finally at his own personal quarters I felt the sweet rush of familiar smells and scents assault my nostrils, letting them fill me up and lower me into a dreamy calm as we moved to the middle of the room; now staring down at a steaming hot basin of boiling water and lavender. Any of the dangers that may have previously swarmed me with dread did not so much as flurry in my thoughts. No longer did I concern myself with whether this bath would be to wash or drown me in - so long as he be the one to hold me under.  
" _Strip_."  
With clothes so sodden and matted to my frame it felt much like shedding out of a skin I had since outgrown, peeling away layers of the rotten, dead fabric and letting them fall to my feet without hesitation. A bustling figure appeared at our feet and collected the garments silently, I stared with wide eyes like a spirit had floated from the floor without warning. How long had she been there? Were there others in the room? I didn't bother to look, reverting back to watching my Lord with eyes bigger than the plates at a feast - terrified he might disappear and leave me alone in this world again.   
Instead he moved closer, two steady hands gripped my arms and lifted me from the floor over the steaming water. It burned every cut, graze and welt as I sank into its depths - one hand remaining so tightly wound in his shirt I may have ripped the seams if he pulled away too suddenly. Not a sound dared to pass my lips, even as the scalding water seemed to find its way to my very core. A burning bath was no feat now - I would let him lie me on a thousand hot coals if he just stayed a little longer.  
Deft hands moved amongst the water as he searched for a cloth to ring out above my filthy hair. I leaned my head back and let it wash over me, searing across the skin and chasing away the remainder of my cell that were left embezzled in the wounds.  
I sat still for a long time under the touch of his hand, slowly working the dirt from my skin tenderly - a word I would have never previously used to describe any of his actions.   
I lapped up the gentle motion of skin to skin contact I had craved for so many moons, watching his face serenely as he worked from head toe; still frightened a bell would chime and my time outside of the cage would be up.  
After a long while he seemed satisfied with the wash and rose steadily from my side, only to begin unbuttoning his robes with nimble fingers. Within moments another body had joined me in the water and as the it began to ripple around us I swayed with ease between his legs and into open arms. Two eyes burned brightly down at me with the expression that I had always thought would accompany my death; yet now I took comfort in that steel gaze. If this was it then so be it. I was ready. Here and now in his arms, bodies pressed close in the warmth of the water that hugged sore limbs and eased the pain that been suffered for so long. Wordlessly a hand wrapped around my throat and squeezed gently, a warning of all of the strength he possesses that I could never hope to match. I no longer hoped to fight, run or die. Only that he never let go.  
 _"Remember this, Ghost. Remember my voice, my touch, my kindness. Remember you are nothing in this world without me. Remember, you are_ ** _mine_** _."_


	8. Resurrection

Nightmares plagued me for the weeks to come. A mind once belonging to myself alone became shattered in this hollow vessel I call a body; now shared with demons that crawled out of the depths and down my spine; filling heaving lungs with sickly poison in the wee hours of the morning.  
Only he could send them away. The sound of his voice chased the darkness from my thoughts - flushing out the whispers that lulled me into frenzy. A familiar iron gaze bore down on me in the night during my outbursts - casting out vivid memories of the cell and it's crumbling walls. A firm hand lurched my fractured conscience from the gutter and brought me back to a realm where only he mattered. Harsh words mumbled in my ear each night - pushing through the web of hysteria, sweeping them away and leaving room for only  _him_.

Ramsay spoke often of my vanquish to those that would listen, all plastering the same solemn expression on their face as he held me out for the world to see. A twisted tale of woe and pride; how a once begrudging slave followed him only out of fear. Yet now, under his hand alone, he had shattered and restitched a soul that worshipped his being. A life who's very existence seemed to depend entirely on his own. A pitiful existence at that. He never forgot to mention that part.  
A once cruel hand that bruised and marred my skin now served as a comfort in my wake, with each new mark reminding me that I was  _alive_.  
Even as strong hands broke bone and teeth ripped at soft skin I would not cry for mercy. What would I be if not an outlet for his failures and frustrations? I had already ventured into the unknown under the foolish act that were Jon Snow's ' _rescue_ ' and came simpering back into my captors arms like a wounded pup to a bitch. A hard lesson learned and a mistake to never be repeated. I would live and die at Ramsay's side unquestioningly - even if he be the one to run the blade through my heart.

                                                                                                                              *

From the edge of my Lord's window ledge I had watched in silence as the sun crept away behind the tree line, once again giving room for the moon to rise like blue torchlight in the night - illuminating Winterfell and it's creatures in a soft glow. I let out warm breathes against frozen hands, the motion doing little to warm them as the puff of air turned to mist and dispersed before my eyes.  
Ramsay had attended a dinner party that evening; hosting an ever growing list of bannermen joining arms to oppose the King in the North. It would not be long until the list of allies would match even Jon Snow's peculiar army of free folk and nights watch soldiers. Not that it were my concern nor business to worry about such things. However, I could still continue to quietly believe that men will start wars and end them until there were no men left at all - for there would always remain a throne with crazed Lord's and beggars alike hungry for its power and willing to kill for the right to sit upon it.

I waited for a long time near the window for Ramsay to come back; both pining for his return and anxious of the events that would unfold upon his arrival. No longer able to bare the cold, I slipped from my perch and began moving to the furs on the floor. It was then that I heard him.  
Drunken slurs and jeers echoed through the hall and chased away the silence. A familiar voice was met with foreign whispers and giggles that rang high and shrill into the air.  
The heavy oak door swung open and in traipsed the Lord himself with a woman, pressed close to his frame as one lazy arm hung loosely from her shoulders. Both were flush from laughter and wine from their night at the feast, but a quick glance to Ramsay confirmed that this night would not end with peachy smiles.  
If only she knew.  
"My dearest Ghost," The address was full of false endearment, a show for the audience at hand. "I have brought you a gift."  
Confusion struck both myself and the doe eyed girl in his arms, who forced a nervous laugh from between painted lips.  
"Oh, my Lord. I'm afraid I don't entertain the company of women - and I certainly don't like to share..." she purred the words in his ear as a now waining smile settled back into a well worn smirk.  
I took a moment to admire the beauty of his new prey. Her head had been graced with lavish auburn hair, woven delicately into fine braids that fell down to frame rosy cheeks; a stark contrast in comparison to the porcelain skin that flickered under the candlelight. She wore a gown that sang of her good fortune, stitched with both silk and lace and other beautiful, nonsensical fabrics to wear during the harsh winter at hand. If it had not been for the encounter with my Lord I don't doubt she would have made a fine wife to a good man somewhere in the Kingdom. Perhaps she believed that good man were Ramsay. Perhaps she would die believing that. I had seen many a Lady, whore and maid wish him rid of whatever sickness had warped him this way. It made no difference, they all shared the same fate. Death did not care for beggars.  
Now her life would end here - in this cold, grey room with nothing except the furnishings to bare witness as she withered away in the night like a fallen petal from a once blooming rose.  
"Oh my sweet Allys, I agree. I also hate to share." Ramsay guided us both to the bed with a faux calm. "That is why I have come up with a game. A challenge of sorts." The room fell silent in anticipation. Allys still smiled prettily at him, not a trace of fear darting across her unsuspecting face - my own silence was one of preparation, both body and mind bracing themselves to watch in silence as Ramsay's disease took yet another life before me.  
"I like games." Ally's chirped like a bird in the summer, with spring in her step and a teasing smile to follow suit.  
"Oh,  _good_." Ramsay's movements became much more calculated then, slinking away from our ovation and towards a nearby dresser. Daggers. I knew that was what sat patiently in the woodwork; lying in wait for Ramsay to call upon them. "The winner gets to sleep in my furs tonight. The loser gets..." He trailed off, eyes seeming to search the air for the right words, "a final goodbye."  
"You wish us to  _compete_  for a night in your furs, Lord Bolton? I do not feel the need to lower myself to such a task. If you would prefer I leave, say so now and be done with it. I will not participate in begging for your attention, my Lord. Especially against the likes of your- your  _mongrel_. " Allys and her shrill voice bristled at my side. Careless, drunken words spat in her outrage. Clearly the fine woman was not used to such treatment from her suitors; her once warm face becoming pinched and bitter at the audacity of such a game.  
Ramsay tutted mindlessly as a hand rummaged in the drawer. "Oh Allys, we've had so much fun. Why spoil it now?"  
A swift hand darted out and clutched a handful of the gold flecked hair beside me. Allys screamed in protest, but strong arms steadied her against the blade now pressed to her throat.  
"You see, my mongrel seems to have lost her  _bite_. Not so long ago, she could stand alone and face me in the light of day. She spoke with fire in her eyes, howled to the moon under my hand and her precious mind would run like the sun in the winter when I allowed a moments peace. I used to watch her, you see. Watch the fight and the fury and the defeat roll over her body as I took her. I liked  _taking_  her, Allys." Ramsay's voice had become ravaged as he spoke, the words dripping in disdain from his lips as he continued, losing himself in his sinful confessions. "It is my fault she is broken. I enjoyed watching her crumble before me, but I miss that fire, Allys. She has always burned the brightest. So you will give her life. You will bring her back to me. She will be reborn - and  _you_  will be the sacrifice."


	9. Folie à Deux

_"I don't want to do this."_  
The words came out by a voice no longer resembling my own. It was distant, much like the scene around me - my conscience trying to wash away the terror into a familiar calm, but I had never been able to escape his voice.  
"That's just it, little Ghost. You don't  _have_  to do it. That wouldn't be a very fair game now, would it? Give poor Allys a chance!" Allys sobbed hysterical nonsense into the hand that now firmly clasped her cheeks, but he didn't pause for breath, crazed eyes only burning more furiously into my own. "There is one knife. That knife will take a life tonight. It certainly won't be mine. It is up to you both who walks out of here with their heart still beating." Ramsay were becoming more unhinged by the second, the blade in his hand reluctantly clattering to the floor between us. Allys was thrown to the far corner of the room, but he did not watch to see her fall, fierce gaze still coming down on me like ships battered by the narrow sea; knocking the air from my lungs and into the current with its force.  
" _Go_." He urged hastily, hands clasped together with childlike glee.  
I could not stop staring at him in utter disbelief, my head shaking slowly in a silent refusal. My competitor decided she would not be so honourable.  
A now unsurprisingly sober Allys moved with rapid precision towards the blade, snatching it from the cold floor and wavering it around clumsily in all directions. A once gentle face now hardening before my eyes, her voice accusing as she curled a lip back in disgust. "Is this your idea of fun, you dog? You force him to bring you  _gifts_  to slaughter in return for fucking him? Even whores ask less of men!"  
The statement,  _(though entirely untrue,_ ) had caused some sort of rise in my chest; hackles raising in response. She thought I had  _asked_  for this? How Ramsay had shared an evening with such moronic company I could not comprehend. No wonder he had chosen her as a target.  
"Come on now, Ghost. Even Allys knows that only one of you is walking out of this room. If the Lady has the belly to hold a dagger to your throat are you really going to just  _stand_  there and wait for your demise?" Ramsay's mocking did nothing to calm unsteady nerves. Without thinking about it I caught sight of the iron cup to my right. Not a blade, but heavy enough to knock one out of her hand. Ramsay unsheathed his sword impatiently and prodded encouragingly against my opponent's temple. "I'm  _bored_. If I don't see blood on my furs by the time I count to five one of you is going to pay for it.  _One_."  
Allys locked eyes with me. Don't do this.  
" _Two_."  
I could visibly see her envisioning the blade running across my throat, sweat-slicked hands shaking as they gripped its handle.  
" _Three_." Steady hands ground the tip of his sword against her ashen face.   
Ramsay never made it to five. The sharp steel urging her forward was all it took for Allys to erupt from her stupor and into a frenzied attack. A scream erupted into the air like a war cry and she charged like a knight in battle, one arm driving the knife forward towards my torso. Caught off guard I could only react on impulse; the cup had reached my hand and swang heavily against her temple with a loud  _thunk_.  
She stumbled, but did not slow as she grasped at fabric hugging my unprotected shoulders and cast the blade down upon my skin. I cried out and grappled with her for a more powerful position, hands knotting firmly in her hair and ripping it from the scalp. Ramsay had begun to cheer, his delighted shouts only amplifying the chaos erupting from the room. Allys never hesitated or spared my skin from the touch of the blade, seeming to come harder and stronger with every collision of steel to supple flesh. Within moments she was on top of me, two hands driving the blade towards my throat, glistening white teeth gritted angrily in her anguish. Adrenaline fuelled what little strength I had left in my bones and kept the weapon at arms length, calling hopelessly to Ramsay to stop this nightmare.  
Ramsay had become as poisonous as the creatures beyond the wall as he foretold what my future may hold. With tone dripping in disdain he hissed about the cell within the walls of the Castle; how it ached for my return and howled longingly in the night like starving wolves at the promise of my arrival.  
My lord's words spat with vehement down at my pitiful demise, but vicious threats laced with venom began to pump rapidly into my bloodstream, causing yet another fissure to tear within an already fractured mind. The cloud of hysteria that dispersed from the split distorted every layer of sickness and dread that had previously burrowed its way down to my core; creating something new. Something ungodly. Fury swelled up from my belly and into now corrupted lungs; a foul rage white hot and seething steamed from my pores and trampled out moral high ground to ashes in its wake. I would not return to the abyss; I would not let this already weakening women spit down on me as so many others had done before. I don't doubt she thought any more or killing me than she would swatting a fly at one of her lavish feasts. Yet I had tried to defy  _him_  to spare her? Bitter outrage curled at my lip as the unholy fire ravaged the last of my resolve. Mongrel or not - I had suffered  _enough_.  
Allys began to waver in her certainty, strength now turning to nothing more than laboured breathing and a once determined gaze becoming hesitant in her near failure. As she faltered in a now meek attack I regained the upper hand with haste, knees grinding her pinned arms into the gravel below as the blade clattered to the floor. I felt depraved in my desperation, once futile attempts to dominate the bloodsport becoming a vicious onslaught as tight fists bore down on her unjaded skin with all of the force of the seven kingdoms and its injustice combined. My assault became heavy and unyielding; the bitter poison in my veins seeping out with every slap, kick and blow I unfoiled against her defeated body. Ramsay was a distant roar in the background as my descent on Allys neared it's end - knuckles split and raw from the impact of her skull. Though my lips moved I no longer recognised the animal that screamed down at it's quarry. Shallow breathing indicated she lived. The blood that gargled in her throat indicated it would not remain that way for long.  
The actuality of my assault finally became clear and crisp under the candle light - wild thoughts becoming lucid once more. As if struck by a plank of driftwood in the open sea I floated lazily above girl that lay dying between my shaking arms; wobbling from the force expelled from them mere moments ago. Ramsay had spoke often of the wonders of watching someone fall into deaths embrace. I had never understood until now. The fascination with the blood that steadily streamed to standstill on ashen skin.  
Allys' eyes though striking even in her death were now sunken in her unrecognisable face, becoming lost amongst purple bruises that blossomed on no longer rosy cheeks. I tilted my head curiously as a horrified stare became vacant and empty. Death had always been portrayed as peaceful, but this close it was as warring as the events that led you to it. I let the familiar calm pull me under, forcing back a dry heave as my stomach threatened to add to the already rotten scene.   
A slow clap broke the silence that had settled in the air, echoed only by the sounds of Allys drowning in her own blood. An arm coated in loose fabric and firm muscle snaked around my waist and I span wildly in his arms. A familiar firm grasp caught my chin and steadied splintered nerves. I didn't want to pull away.  
Ramsay loomed above with a rare smile warping usually hostile features that now glowed with pride - an expression that mimicked the same look a mother may bestow upon the miracle that were her offspring. Perhaps Ramsay perceived me as such a creation.  
 _"That was truly beautiful, little Ghost. Bravo."_


	10. Together

The hounds made short work of Allys' corpse.  
Ramsay had suggested we bury her in the Godswood and sing of her sacrifice into the dawn - even offering a bottle of his finest wine to dowse the embers that still threatened to ignite the fury that settled in my belly.  
I could not explain to him that I feared she would claw her way out of the earth and drag her mangled body into the bed furs to find me;  instead reminding him the hounds had not been fed. I could not tell him I still heard her screaming even as I watched the dogs tear flesh from bone; choosing to let silence seal my lips as she was ravaged in the kennels before us both. Together we watched.  
When the dogs lie down with full bellies and bloodstained jowls I looked to Ramsay for guidance; lost in the darkness and no longer able to stand the sharp crack of teeth on bone as the dogs gnawed in content at the last of their meal.  
Together we proceeded to the bed chambers and my Lord proceeded to wash away my sins with another steaming hot basin that soon ran red with the last reminder of Allys and her demise. I sat calmly in the tainted water and once again let my Lord cleanse me of the horrors endured at his will.  
It felt like a long time before Ramsay joined me. I didn't have to look to know his eyes still burned down at my body, hot and angry and  _wanting_  as he dragged himself between my legs in the water.  
 _"You know, you really ought to work on your temper..."_ Ramsay mocked at what I supposed he thought was despair and the smirk that etched across his face felt like home. Perhaps if he knew I now found comfort in his menace he would become kind and honourable just to spite me; or perhaps he would beat me until I cried his name with the same anguish I once had. I simply didn't care anymore. Ramsay could beat me, break me or feed me to the dogs. I knew I would only keep listening to the sound of his voice until my ears filled with blood and brain and floods of memories where I could still see him clearly. I would still keep listening. For his was the only voice that still echoed in my mind and filled it with something  _real_. Even if that reality was one that most would rather not have to live through.  
"You have not shed a tear of mourn for our dear Allys, little Ghost. Where is your  _humanity_?"  
Quietly, I watched him. Through the jeering and smug look on his face I could see the way his eyes searched my own for some hint of sadness - for anything he could latch onto and rip to the surface to drown me in. That familiar searching gaze turned to one of confusion when for the first time during our many years together Ramsay could not seem to find the same frightened little girl that now sat between his legs. She had died along with Allys; her vessel now filled with something hot and angry and all the more enticing to her twisted maker. The air was filled with something dark and heavy, yet somehow it burned brightly between us and forced life into lungs that had long since forgotten how to breathe it all in.  
" _Ghost no more."_  
Ramsay pulled me onto his lap with all of his usual brute force and pushed his way inside of me. I winced but did not react to the motion as he would have liked, instead daring to rest both hands on his shoulders and push myself further onto his now throbbing member. We stayed that way for a moment that felt like a lifetime - eyes locked and breathing becoming laboured in freezing water that did nothing to cool burning bodies. A hellish smile broke out across his face and he began to grind steadily against my thighs, the motion igniting a sharp stab of pleasure that forced my eyes back to the ground. The show of weakness was all he needed, like the creatures of the sea that could smell blood in the water he sensed my sudden uncertainty and pounced - literally. I was suddenly beneath him in the basin, head barely above water as calloused hands clawed at my hips and held me steady as he began to thrust. The water sprayed from the sides of our bloodbath and hit the stone beneath, but lying there underneath his body had the water come in waves, pulling me under again and again until I feared I would drown before he finished with me. Ramsay never slowed in his pace, the painfully steady rhythm beginning to really make my stomach knot. A moan threatened to spill out past my lips. With a hand knitted in my hair I rose from the depths with a gasp and fell forward into his arms as he threw himself back with our bodies still entwined. Even on top of him I knew he still held all of the power; thrust after thrust making me weaker by the second as I groaned and leaned down to rest my head against his own. As he pulsed inside of me and vicious hands began to bruise my hips I wondered what it would be like to be him. To be so certain of your strength; to know truly that you could take someone's life at any moment and to be able to fuck someone so senseless despite all that he had done to make the thought of this physically sickening had it not felt so  _good_. The power that not so long ago had me shaking in his presence now had me quaking on top of him during mind numbingly good sex. As delicate hands snaked across taut skin and I explored every inch of hard, lean muscle and soaking wet skin between dizzy moans and heavy sighs. I began both pulling him closer and pushing him away all at once as he fucked me into oblivion. I threw my head back in both despair at what I was doing and ecstasy from a new feeling that expelled itself from my core. A cry that had sounded like no other during our previous encounters erupted from my throat without consent and I dipped down to wrestle with him to release me from his hold. The feeling became overwhelming and shaking hands began clawing at the vice like grip that held my body in place. Ramsay was not done. Like a strike of lightening he rose from the water and stalked to the bed, throwing me to the furs and dragging me back beneath his body. Without pause for breath he forced his lips unto my own and let out a deep moan, suddenly forcing his head past my own and biting down hard onto my shoulder. Fury swelled up as pain fuelled pleasure and I sank my own teeth deeply into his jaw without thought nor care. A snarl hissed out from between bloody lips as he wrapped a hand around my throat.  
" _Don't push it._ "  
A warning. I had never had the luxury of a warning before and unfortunately for him I did not need one now. Ramsay would beat me bloody whether I behaved or not, as proved by many a night screaming in his furs for some lost forgiveness. I did not want his mercy. Besides, it felt damned  _good_  to bite him.  
 _"Fuck. You."_  
A fist collided with my right eye and even as the skin blossomed with colours of winter flowers I laughed upon impact, knotting my hands in his hair and attempting to drag him back down to the task at hand. I failed in that, but did manage to claw my way up into a sitting position so that I now rested in his lap once more. Eyes alight with new found fury he spat directly into my gaping mouth, seething rage only encouraging my sudden insubordination. A single arm that possessed more strength than I could ever hope to muster forced my arms back to the bed and he slammed his hips up painfully into my own. I would have cried out had he not shoved his fingers so far down my throat I was sure he would touch his own cock if he pressed any further. Instead he snatched them back out and caught my face to gaze down in utterly consuming rapture as I spluttered and heaved a lungful of breath beneath his taut physique.  
 _"I have been fucking you since the day we met, my sweet - in more ways than you could ever know."_    
I felt the words both sink in and get plowed out with the rest of my sanity as he took me wholly in the furs; every throb, thrust and throw of our bodies rinsing me of any emotion other than  _need_. I moaned his name into the night and was sure the castle would think I had truly gone mad with the howls that erupted time after time as I rose higher into the delirium that consumed my mind.  
I studied him in this new light like I had never done before as the beast within the man released itself without restraint. My acute awareness did nothing to change his taste nor appetite. As it always had the lust that devoured him led to bloodshed, split lips and bruises that chased away once ivory skin, replacing it with what now looked like the most beautiful mosaic I had ever bared witness to. As his own climax rose and spent inside of me I saw the carnality burn behind eyes that bore down on me in utter contempt.  
I let those eyes set me on fire.  
As the smoke rose up and faded his features to bliss he let his full weight come crumbling down and smothered me in both his sweat and my blood.  
Together we lie in our disarray. With chests both rising and falling in heavy unison as the world around slowly came back into focus. I allowed myself to sink deeper into the comforts of the now soaked furs, his crushing weight beginning to squeeze the air from already laboured lungs. Bloodied and broken I lie there with him, no longer plagued or tormented by his touch. In my haze I was somewhat aware of steady hands rolling me listlessly around the bed until satisfied with their work. Silence consumed us both as Ramsay fell beside me, arms snaking their way around my body in a familiar unyielding grip that remained my final comfort as exhaustion outweighed all else.  
The sound of his voice lulled me into slumber, but the words were nothing but faint slurs and a steady hum that only sent me deeper into oblivion.  
Together we slaughtered.  
Together we sinned.  
Together we  _slept_.


	11. Unholy Oblation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m super sorry this chapter is short, it was intended for effect but I promise the next Chapter will make up for it and I won’t leave you all hanging for too long! What are your thoughts so far? Let me know where you’d like to see it go! And thank you, so much, for reading!

Sunrise crept from behind the tree line and light poured over the furs that kept naked bodies entwined. It broke apart my slumber; it's harsh and unfiltered rays scaring away sleep induced haze that had clouded the memories of nights past.

Ramsay's head was buried underneath lavish goose-feathered pillows, tousled hair still matted with sweat from ravenous hands and stuck in disarray against the crisp white bedding. I contemplated ripping it from his scalp. An excitable thought indeed.

I imagined crawling on top of his bare chest and carving a knife from ear to ear. Not to kill him, only to unleash whatever demon animated him in such breathtaking colours when he erupted with violence. I could stand there and take every ounce of force and fury for hours if only allowed to soak in the torrent of ferocity that would set my soul on fire once more.

"I feel you watching me, girl."

If I hadn't learned to always brace myself for some form of impact I might have jumped frommy skin. Since that were not the case, I instead calmly rolled away from the wolf in wait and rested my chin on a pillow that seemed a safe distance away. A hand shot from between the furs and caught my chin, forcing me back between iron arms and giving a short squeeze of warning. It seems my guesswork had been incorrect. There was no fire in his eyes as he looked down at me, but the calculating stare confirmed that the silence on his lips had not touched his mind. It were not my place to ask what the Lord chose to muse over - nor did I have the courage to delve into a conversation about the workings of his wicked thoughts.

Abruptly, the fingers resting against my cheeks began to unsheathe nails into the skin beneath them. I winced.

"Do you know who you belong to, little Ghost?" The question was as pressing and urgent as the claws that anchored me in place.

"You, my Lord."

His hand tightened painfully.

"Correct. Will you ever dare to run from me again, stupid girl?"

"Never again, my Lord." I could hardly spit the words out past his hand, but my answer was reflexive and without hesitance.

Squeeze.

"Will you ever question my authority or resist my command?"

Now unable to speak with hands like a vice muzzling my jaw I merely urged my own eyes to speak of the subservience that had held true for so long before recent rebellion. A dignified huff bristled the hair that wrapped around my cheeks, but my eyes never wavered from his own. Seemingly satisfied with my unspoken obedience, a smile born for battle emerged from a typically unwavering scowl. As if the walls could stack with secrets or the birds in the trees could sing tales of his treachery Ramsay leered closer and let parted lips rest tentatively against my ear, a whisper breaking what awful silence had settled in the air.

"You have shown me that even mongrels can be trained with the right hand." With lips made from glass and a voice cut with steel he kissed the words into my neck. "You will be my greatest weapon in the war to come, pet. You will perform as the lion in lamb skin. Like the Tears of Lys those that consume you will not taste their demise as you eat them alive. You will be my retribution."

"My Lord, I think war is better lef—"

"Hush now," he rolled on top of my body. "I do not care what you think. You will not think. You will perform this task as brainlessly as a puppet tied with strings - for you are _mine_ and I will it so." I knew in that moment I would perform whatever it took for him to keep staring at me like I was the only solution for his reprisal. I needed him to keep needing me. I could not go back to the cell. I would not.

"You will be the sword that drives Jon Snow to his knees before me, my sweet little menace. You will pluck his heart from his ribcage and kneel at my feet as you were born to do as it shrivels and dies in your bloody hands. Together we will feast on the organ. Together we will dance on his grave. Together, little Ghost, we will break the bastard."


	12. A demonstration

_"You will be the sword that drives Jon Snow to his knees before me, my sweet little menace. You will pluck his heart from his ribcage and kneel at my feet as you were born to do as it shrivels and dies in your bloody hands. Together we will feast on the organ. Together we will dance on his grave. Together, little Ghost, we will break the bastard."_

I found pleasure in only a select few things in this miserable cesspit we all called life - but one of my favourite pass times was watching the life drain from her face time and time again. This time was no different. Doe eyes gazed up at me with an innocence that had not touched her since long before letting her fester in that pit so many moons ago. I thought it had died entirely with Allys. Perhaps it needed to be stamped out once again.  
"My lord, I ca- Jon is a go—"  
" _Silence_." Morality was not something I trained into my creatures. If it became an issue now I could beat it out of her as I had every other useless trait she possessed. A spark of fury made my fingers twitch with at the mention of his name. I restrained. Not for her sake - it simply felt too good to beat her and not fuck her while she still wept. It were too time consuming to become lost in her tears and her sex at the moment. The bruises that crept toward her dark lashes did nothing to dull the azure ocean that swirled amongst the whites of her eyes - no amount of horror ever had. Always her eyes remained defiant even in my darkness. I hated that.  
Reluctantly, she pursed her lips and waited for me to continue speaking. I didn't care for reluctance. Besides, that itch to strike her had begun to make my cock swell.  
She didn't cry out as I let my open palm strike at her cheek, but the catch of her breath was enough to satisfy my hunger for now.  
"Jon Snow has caused you so much pain, little Ghost. And yet still you attempt to defy me in his defence?" The poison rolled of my tongue and poured into susceptible ears with ease. "Are you really so broken that you do not see that you owe this unkindness to him? To  _me_? Actions have consequences. You know that. Jon Snow took actions that led to your consequences." It felt foreign to justify my decisions. I did not care for her feelings about the subject. Jon Snow had been a dead man walking for many years in my ideals - she was just the perfect way to execute him. The reward of my puppeteering felt good to watch. The words began to twist inside her mind - as distant memories were tarred with a bitter brush and starting to warp that bastard Snow from white knight to meddling cunt.  
The order wasn't a question so I didn't wait for an answer. I rose from the sheets and stretched lazily above her, taking one last look at her naked and bruised body in my furs.  
"Do not sit there and mope like some sulking child," I spat, "Rise. Wash. Dress. Today we share our  _exciting_  news with the council."

*

 _Preposterous._  
 _Ridiculous._  
 _Reckless._  
The heart of the council had little faith. I had not asked for their faith nor their permission. A lord does not look to peasants for guidance. I dismissed any and all that mocked the notion of the idea. Some lay dead at my feet, the rest now skittering nervously behind the wooden table - debating whether the oak would keep me barred from their bodies. A dagger wavered carelessly in my finger tips, first pointing to my Father and then to the girl at my feet. She did not flinch. I nicked her cheek for good measure.  
"First you insist on bringing that  _thing_  to every meeting; now you wish to send her to the enemy with a head full of information that should never have entered her thick skull in the first place!" My Father had never been able to hold his tongue. A firm hand, harsh words and condescending stares had all but raised me as a boy. If anything his outrage felt like home. "You truly believe she will betray Snow for you? You are no better than the deluded whores that waltz into your furs and believe you will  _love_  them."  
"Father, you have no understanding of the workings of a broken mind. The girl is mine. She will do exactly as I ask. It is unquestionable," I rose from my seat and continued speaking over the scoffs that followed the statement, "do you believe she wishes to kill me like my enemies?"  
My Father levelled out; hackles raising as he came to full height with a dangerous look of contempt engraved in his features after many years of raising such an  _awful_  bastard. "You are lucky that girl has not slit your throat while you sleep, boy. It is only a matter of time. If you arm an enemy with a blade do not have the audacity to be surprised as it runs through your spleen. You will have no sympathy from me for your foolishness." As he finished his scalding he made his way to the door.  
 _"Do not turn your back on me!"_  
The room fell silent. Footsteps steadied in the hall. Every man in the room looked hesitantly to one another for guidance as an echo rang out and settled over the ovation.  
I stormed towards her with furious intent, fingers flexing at my hips before shooting out and catching a fistful of dark hair. She moved pliantly under my hand. I felt like fucking her in front of these men, perhaps then they would see how truly obedient she was to my touch. That was not going to prove anything to my Lord Father. Our audience remained fixated as  
I dropped to my knees before her and thrust the dagger into her shaking hands.  
"You think I am so useless Father. You think the girl hates me so. You think I am a boy with too much power and too little sense, yet here I am with a Castle at my feet and a council at my side." I felt the excitement rise in my chest as my Father began to pace back towards the two figures in the middle of the room. I watched as the concern touched the lines that shed his already worn features.  
"Ramsay, I do not need to see your throat get cut to belie—"  
"Oh, but you  _do_ , dear Father!" I grinned at him and took Ghost by the hips, snatching her closer to me. I forced the blade to my throat and tilted my head back in surrender. "Loyal council, my final request is that you see Ghost well in her future. I wish for her to have gold, land and protection for the rest of her days. I do not wish for any action to be taken upon her in my death. It would be a dishonour if you were to deny me a single one of these requests." I inhaled sharply and snapped my eyes back to Ghost. I breathed her in and let all the fear she emitted fill my lungs with the fumes. She had always smelt the best.   
"Kill me."  
"My Lord, plea—"  
"I said kill me! Think of everything I have done to you. Think of every time you have screamed my name and begged for mercy. Think of the life you could have if I hadn't taken it for my own!" I knew hysteria had touched my mind and shuddered in excitement as blood began to boil beneath the surface of my veins. Ghost stared down at me wide eyed and pleading. I met her with a smile born for battle. "Do it," I whispered. " _Show them._ "  
The council had all frozen in their seats, each one with a hand reaching out as if willing the blade to drop from her hands. Conflicting emotions swarmed her mind - I imagined the deep ache that disobeying an order must bring her and hummed with delight. The council stared on in horror as I leaned my weight against the metal, near moaning with content as blood trickled down into the collar, staining it with my madness.  
Ghost did not move.  
Ghost did not speak.  
Ghost only stared hopelessly at the knife in her palms as if willing it to turn to ash. So  _broken_.  
"Enough of this lunacy!"  
My father roared from the sidelines and struck the blade from her fingertips, the disappointing sound of steel to stone ringing out for all the council to hear. A chuckle rumbled from my gut and filled the silence that had fallen so. I forgot about the council and my fathers beady eyes. With steady hands I clasped her face and brought her to her knees before me, rising above like thunder clouds that threatened to pour down with Hell's fury on the earth.   
"She is the  _perfect_  hunter. Unseen. Unheard. Unforgiving. Jon Snow's atonement will be futile. The bastard will rue the day he ever laid eyes on my pretty little Ghost."  
Silence fell across the hall. Once dubious eyes now peered down at my creation with consuming curiosity, worried expressions worn with unspoken questions and queries of my method. I squeezed her cheeks for good measure and released her from my hands, turning to my Father.  
 _"You put your faith in men that kneel before useless gods and swear oaths through lying teeth. Men with wavering intentions that would eat you alive if you stumbled in your reign. I put mine in Ghost; for her loyalty was not born of honour nor pride - it was an intrinsic part of survival. Instinctive and unyielding. Beaten dogs do not bite the hand that feeds them, Father. Even if that hand could one day snap it's neck."_

_*_

The following dawn touched the grounds and chased away the darkness. The path ahead was littered with snow high as the horses knees and debris from the dying plant life scattered amongst the winter carpet. My precious Ghost lie still in a crate hoisted to the wagon that were to set off towards The Wall, shallow breathes puffing out into the winter's embrace and dispersing fumes fading before my eyes - as if she were nothing more than a corpse rotting in the woodwork. Bloodied and broken she slept off her trauma. When she woke she would be with the enemy. I thought briefly about how I would miss my own shadow, but the touch of humanity was lost as soon as it had appeared.   _Do not disappoint me, Ghost. It would be such a shame to break my favourite toy..._ Frozen fingers traced her mottled jaw, haphazardly jibing at the bruises in hopes of rousing some whimper from her lips. Still she lie there lifeless. I huffed in annoyance and slapped at her cheek. The palm of my hand now marred with her blood.  _Useless_. I thought bitterly and jumped from the wagon with steady footing even in the ice. After scrounging in my coat for the parchment I tossed it carelessly in her crate and sealed it shut. It saddened me that I would not be there to see her face as she woke freezing in the darkness. I thought about the amusement of watching her writhe and scream for saviour as the walls closed in and her brain scattered in the confined space. Shame.  
I turned to the rider.  
"See she makes it to the bastard alive. Do not feed her. Do not offer her water. Do not answer to her screams. I need this to look convincing." I smiled and kissed the crate, letting my sword pierce the smallest of holes in the top of the planks. That would suffice.  
The horses were silent in their departure, thick snow muffling their hooves as they took away my favourite plaything. I headed back towards the castle in stony silence, soon to fill my free time with the pleasure of cracking open the skull of a whore in my furs . Excitement quickly erased the ache of longing that had crept into my thoughts; casting out infuriating images of the coming days that would end with Jon Snow and my broken girl sharing his furs.  
Patience had never been my fortè, but the confidence that Ghost would obey even in my absence made the thought of a long game all the more bearable. Besides, I had all the time in the world to fuck her while Jon Snow's head remain mounted above my mantle.


	13. The Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay on this Chapter catching up from Christmas has been absolutely manic! Chapter 14 definitely won't be such a wait away! As always, please leave me a kudos or comment if you're enjoying it. I really appreciate the love, ha. Anyway creeps, have fun!

The cold hit me first. A gleaming vinework of frost crept through the cracks of the woodwork and had the bed of hay transform into a needlework of ice that poked and prodded at already sore skin. The pinhole that were my window merely cast the black hole I had been hovelled up in with a dismal grey shadow that did nothing to help chase away the sadness - nor the chill. Unanswered cries had long since been forgotten, instead turning to a sullen silence as the familiar lash of horse whip became my only comfort of other life. The knowledge that someone yielded that whip was enough to keep the loneliness away. If I were quiet for long enough I could even match my breathing to the tiring sigh of the mounts and ease back into unconsciousness. Slumber was no escape. Ramsay's rage and abrupt jealousy came flooding back in flash memories that caused an already developed headache to worsen with the long days that passed. The idea versus reality of sending me to the enemy had twisted him in a drunken stupor the night before my departure. Harsh reminders of my previous disloyalty were carried out with iron fists as the beast within the man lost himself to carnage. I revelled in all his fire and let the memory of his onslaught warm my bones in the crate as it rocked steadily on.  
In my silence I had my own quiet doubts about my Lord's great scheme. Uncertainty had crept into troubled thoughts long before his own insecurities had showered me in temper. I did not believe that Jon Snow had been titled King in the North through naivety. How could I lure him into Ramsay's snare without raising suspicion? If not from him then from his council? Ramsay seemed to think that Jon were too honourable a man to turn me away from the wall. The rest was an equal bid of time and trust. I did not have the luxury of such confidence. It was hard to have confidence in anything when you were rotting away in your own filth expecting a man with no debt to you for saviour. A saviour that would end in his betrayal at that. Jon Snow's kindness had touched me once before. I remembered warm eyes and soft words that had lulled me into a false sense of security. Ramsay's cold stare and sharp tongue were much more dependable. I knew where my loyalties must lie, yet the thought of turning out the King in the North to my Lord still settled as an uneasy guilt in my gut. I pushed it away. I could not fail him. I would not. Jon Snow's betrayal would be my devout redemption.

                                                                                                                                 *

The crate had been still for so long I worried it had become buried in the snow. The sound of wood scraping against wagon signaled that my journey had come to an end. My new cage had fallen with a deft thud to the earth below, jarring me into consciousness for the possibly endless wait ahead.  
After the distant sounds of the horses had left me alone in the world I was overwhelmed with nothing but silence and the stench of the now foul hay. My lungs became hot and heavy with the air they consumed. My gut both felt like it had doubled in size and rotted away all at once in my belly. _My head._ Gods, my head felt like a new heart had grown inside of it - like a new organ was splitting its way between skull and mush and creating an entirely new beat that pulsed agonizingly between sore eyes. God, if I died here Ramsay would reanimate my corpse for the singular purpose of killing me slowly. My minuscule peep hole seemed to be growing smaller in the woodwork. Panic was a short visit away; now threatening to bubble over and drown me in the confined space. I could have cried if exhaustion hadn't stripped me of the energy to do so.  
 _Someone_   _was_   _coming_.  
The faint sounds of leather boot crunching crisp snow only became clearer once my hearing had zeroed in on the footsteps.  
"Help." The words rasped from between parched lips, the vibration of the noise ripping my voice out from it's hiatus painfully. The low murmur of male chatter paused momentarily. They were listening. I cocked one leg out and kicked hard at the crate, a scream clearing the dust from my airways as excruciating pain extended through the muscle.  
 _"Careful, Jon.. it could be an animal."_  
 _"It was a woman, Sam. A scream."_  
 _"Alright then. Careful, Jon. it could be a dangerous woman._ "  
Sam seemed disheartened by Jon's obvious lack of concern. I found it unnerving, too.  
" _Danger surrounds us from every side and you really chose to chastise me over searching for a woman lost in the snow? Not another word. Unless you're about to tell me you've found her."_  
Jon's voice had been biting and impatient with his companion. The gentle hum that usually sang with his words had been chased away with bitterness. Perhaps the cold could change people, too. Perhaps the cold had changed Jon like the fire had changed me.  
The lid of the crate cracked and moaned as it was ripped away from it's panel. An evening glow poured in over my figure, curled up like a newborn and wide eyed like a lamb.  
Jon Snow stared down at me with searching eyes, the only hint of recognition was the singular cock of one dark brow as his gaze rested on my face.  
" _Ghost_.."  
Two hands caught my arms and pulled me from the abyss. The winter chill took hold of my frame and had me shaking like a leaf in the breeze before the Lord and his companion; who both stared on with a mixture of horror on Sam's part to little more than a deeply brooding expression from the King himself.  
"Where is Ramsay?" I couldn't place his tone. It unnerved my composure. With new intentions I felt uneasy in his presence and if he were anything like Ramsay he would smell the deceit and lash me for it in the snow.  
"I don't know, my Lord."  
Adrenaline began to pulse with the worry of discovery. I wondered if Jon Snow kept a beast locked away inside of him, too. The thought of anger blazing over his not-so-gentle gaze made me shudder in anticipation. Or perhaps it was the cold.  
"Jon.." Sam appeared from the sidelines and held out a crumpled piece of parchment with tentative fingertips. The poor man looked as if the paper might grow teeth and bite him. It didn't escape anyone's notice that the letter were sealed with a dark crimson thumbprint that had no doubt been pressed with my own blood. I cringed. Jon took the paper ripped the seal off without a word, his eyes becoming lost between the furrow of his brows. He offered the note to me and straightened himself out to his full height, watching my face for any visual clues as to what on earth had happened to have me abandoned in a box in the middle of the north.  
"It seems your Lord is finally finished hunting you, Ghost," a half smile appeared somewhere on his face, but it was lost to the turmoil that bubbled in his brain, "Sam, ready the horses. The lady needs to see the Maester." Jon put a leather bound hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. It was the first form of comfort I had encountered in what felt like a lifetime. As the men began to bustle with the horses and Jon wrapped a familiar fur coat around my shoulders I took a moment to peer at the note, feeling my heart sink at the words whether I knew them to be a lie or not.

**_"Our valiant new King in the North,_ **

**_I do not care for broken toys. Your meddling corrupted my creature with maddened ideals of escape. I had wished to kill her, but upon remembering your select interest in my property I thought I would for once think of the less fortunate and offer her to you and your men. A gift. A peace offering, if you will._ _Please use her as she was made to be used. Try not to let the thought of my fucking her become a bother during any future pleasure you wish to indulge yourself in._ **   
**_Kill her if you wish, but please do send me an invitation to witness her demise. I have longed to see the blood run down her once beautiful body. It would be a woeful shame to not be allowed to witness the event._ **

**_Ramsay of House Bolton, Lord of Winterfell."_ **


	14. To Catch a King

The uneasy hush of whispers and suspicious eyes fell over the room as I exited the Maester's quarters. My hair hung wet and clean as it wrapped around my shoulders. Ivory skin now shined prettily under the dismal candlelight. Jon stood at my side rigidly, staring down anyone that kept their eyes burning a hole in me for too long.  
"Ignore them. They will soon see you are no threat." Jon had become softer when we stood alone in the Maester's office. An intense level attention and interrogation had fully swept out any and all details of my journey since leaving the Inn that night so long ago. I had not needed to lie nor exaggerate the torture and treatment endured upon capture - all of which induced sympathy and remorse on his part. Though, I left out the mention of Allys and Ramsay's true intention in leaving me here.  
 _"I should never have left you that morning. I knew you were frightened. I could have kept you safe."_  
Touching as the statement may have been, I didn't let it warm my heart as it might once have done. Instead reminding him that fleeing his party had been my choice - not his. Ramsay would have caught up to me anyhow; whether Jon thought so or not. You cannot hide from a born hunter and Ramsay was the most vicious hunter I had ever known.  
With linen wraps now holding broken ribs and shredded skin back into place the evening ahead became less painful to withstand. Jon had left me alone in a dust coated library with  
Sam while he attended meetings with his council. Sam had filled our time together with nervous chatter and sickly sweet smiles of sympathy every time he caught me wince or catch my breath. The man was kind. Soft. Softer than any man I had ever met before. Ramsay would eat him alive.  
As dusk fell into a bitter night the scarce scraps of what the men classed as a meal was plated up and served in a stony room; barren tables were the only decoration lining the walls. I still had not seen Jon. Without his watching eyes many of the men did not restrain from raking me up and down with bitter scowls and lewd stares - some even being so bold as to talk about fucking me over dinner before sending my body back to the bastard of Winterfell.  _He's going kill all of you - and I am going to watch._ Others stared soundlessly. I suppose they thought they were being respectful, but I was not a stranger to the carnality of men deprived of a woman. So many of these men were starved of female companionship I felt much like a lamb left to the wolves sat among them. The atmosphere in the room was soaring with both male lust and the vicious hatred bred from a war I took no part in. Once sober men that had held their hands and tongues began to lose themselves to their cups; inhibitions set aside as the ale did nothing to dowse the fire that ached in their groins. Some moved closer to our table, outstretched arms snagging my clothes and twirling my hair tauntingly. They were becoming braver. Like the vultures of the woodland they circled back and forth to test the strength of prey - not quite certain if it was safe to land and devour the carcass without awakening the beast that had maimed it.  
Sam sensed the change of the atmosphere and seemed just as intimidated by the chopping emotions of the warriors he called his brothers. He held a finger up and told me to wait, before skittering from his seat and out of the front door.  _Coward_ , I thought bitterly.  
I took hold of the cup that sat before me, remembering how Allys had fallen so lifelessly at my feet when I had struck her with it. The size of your opponent shouldn't matter if you knew where to lunge. There was no muscle strong enough to protect the brain from a bludgeon. I imagined one of these mighty men would fall just the same as the now dead girl if I struck them hard enough. Whether it was faux bravado or too much time in the company of Ramsay the moment a hand grasped my thigh I unleashed the adrenaline that had simmered beneath the surface during the meal. With all the force I could muster I plunged a fork into the wandering hand and watched in delight as the fingers struck out in shock. The man behind me hollered and out I was dragged from the seat. Not nearly as quickly as he had snatched the fork from his flesh and held it to my throat.  
"You Bolton  _scum_! You'll pay for that!"  
I struck the man hard with the goblet and watched as he stiffened up further in his rage. With blood seeping through the ugly gaps in his broken teeth he smiled menacingly as if the blow had been nothing more than a child swatting at his grizzly cheek. " _Silly girl_. _.How about I take you for a real fucki—"_  
I didn't see him enter the room. Nor did I see him charge like a bull at my attacker. All that signalled his arrival was the forcible  _whoosh_  of air as he slammed the man to the ground. I stumbled back from the ordeal as the wolf pitted himself against the other in a vicious assault. Jon was a force to be reckoned with when his usual composure had diminished. His true size and strength exhibited clearly with powerful blows as he threw the man like a rag doll from left to right, heavy punches cracking both rib and jaw in equal measure. The vultures that had leered ever closer now cowered back to their seats as Jon made a meal of beating his opponent to a pitiful crumple at his feet. I had heard the King in the North was an avid fighter, but witnessing the gruesome hand to hand combat first hand was still impressive. Heightened again through the sheer shock of it being delt by the gentle soul that had comforted me not so long ago in my hour of need.  
"I yield!  _Jon, I yield!_ " The man cried out helplessly. Jon had become lost to his temper. I could see the words slowly seeping through the crimson veil that muffled deft ears, yet somehow he snapped his hands back in restraint. Strange.  
He turned wildly to the men in the hall, pointing directly at the slob now clambering away from the King towering above him.  
"Anyone else? Anyone else care to disrespect our guest in my presence?!" Jon's roared the question at the group, who stared on in a solemn silence. "You should be ashamed of yourselves." The roar quietened to a growl. It was equally effective. None of the brothers met his gaze. Without another word passing anyone's lips Jon ran a bloodied hand through his unkempt hair and stormed back towards the door. He turned just before leaving, looking back to me with what little patience he had mustered up in the short space of time.  
"Come." He muttered, gentler still.  
I obeyed. The door clicked firmly shut behind us and I heard the audible sigh of relief from his men as we headed out into the winter's night. The silence was making me uneasy.  
"Thank you, your Grace."  
"It's Jon." He corrected snippily, eyes forward facing as he marched ahead.  
"Right.." A smile touched my lips at the familiarity of it all. " _Thank you, Jon."_

*

Ramsay had estimated a few days to pass before I earned my way into Jon's bedchambers. It seemed the ordeal over dinner had sped up the process without any effort on my part. I stood warily in the centre of the room. A map lie open on the table, with markers dotted around the Kingdom and familiar sigils carved from wood all placed in their territories in solidarity. The markers meant very little to me. I was not here to corrupt any war plans. Only to catch a King. The familiar X of house Bolton stood guard over Winterfell and I thought longingly of Ramsay and his furs. The strange walls and strange men had done nothing but set my teeth on edge since arriving. I pined for the comforts of home. As comfortless as as they were.  
"I angered a few of my brothers this evening, Ghost. I worry that you will pay the price for that if left unattended in a bed chamber." The blunt statement didn't shake my nerves. I had felt the vengeance in the air as Jon had deprived the men of the luxury of lust.   
"A king need not justify his decisions to a slave, your Grace. I will sleep wherever you please." I gestured to the bed and then to the floor for good measure.  
"You are not a slave. You are a guest. You may take my furs if you wish." He waited for a response to which I gave none. I wanted to know if the King would sacrifice his honour once more to sleep next to a broken girl.  
Jon sighed heavily and raised a dark brow in contempt. "You will freeze to death if you sleep on the floor. As will I. I could arrange for another room to be cleared, but I cannot spare the men to guard the doorway. You sleep here." Jon rose from the leather seat decidedly and approached with catlike grace. Something had changed the King since our last meeting. He was harder, somehow. Angrier. I wondered what event had stolen the warmth from his now unreadable gaze.  
"Why did you run from the Inn, Ghost? Why did you run back to him?"  
"I simply ran, your Grace. Not back to my Lord and not away from you."  
"Did you feel I could not protect you?" Jon bristled at his own question.  
"I don't believe anyone can protect themselves from him. He would have caught me whether I lied in wait or ran for the hills. It makes no difference. My Lord is relentless in his pursuits. I have never seen him return from a hunt empty handed."  
"Before you spoke only in fear. Now your eyes betray your words for what you truly speak." Jon rose from the furs and began to undress mindlessly. Where had the blushing boy from the Inn disappeared to? "You are impressed by him." I watched in wait while the white linen shirt peeled away from his skin, revealing a body taut with muscle and as firm as the man it belonged to I took a moment to consider his statement. A moment longer to consider if Jon were as brutal in the furs as he was in combat.  
"Ramsay is an impressive man, your Grace. Terrifying, too. I am relieved to be free from his hold," I paused as Jon stilled before me, turning so the steady rise and fall of his broad chest became my only focus as I continued painfully, "But I sometimes feel lost in a world of the living when he is not around. There is beauty in his rage. I've felt it. It can give life as quickly as it can take it."  
"Being beaten to death by a man three times your size is no way to remind yourself you are alive, Ghost. You  _must_  know that?"  
"There are worse ways to forget." I muttered, wincing at the memory of my isolation in the wall for so long. I could still hear it whispering from deep within the cracks in my conscience, threatening to tear open like a fissure now Ramsay no longer grappled my thoughts and forced it closed. We stood before each other curiously for a time, Jon's eyes became searching as he let wandering hands skim over every sore, scar and bruise that had been left behind upon my departure from Ramsay.  
 _"_ What has he  _done_  to you, sweet girl?"  
I didn't think he meant the beating. In fact, I didn't think Jon was speaking to me at all. His voice became distant as a hand mindlessly rose to trace my cheek. The tender brush of his fingertips was unfamiliar and I stood rigidly beneath his burning body. I did not want his sympathy. I did not want him looking at me with that awfully pained expression that made me feel weak and powerless as I had lived for so long. I could take every beating Ramsay rained down on me. All of them. A thousand times over and God's be good I would I deserve it when he came for Jon at my treachery. Jon's sorrow was nearly as infectious as Ramsay's fury. It emitted from him in heavy waves that washed over me and began to weaken a once strong resolve. My turmoil began to show even in the now wavering candlelight and Jon recomposed, pulling himself away with little to no hesitance.  
"I apologise. I find it hard to witness a woman bear more battle scars than some of the seasoned soldiers that man the wall. Forgive my stares." Jon was both sharp and smooth in his apology. I nodded my acceptance and moved away towards the bed furs - relieved the growing tension had been defused before my tongue had tripped me into trouble once more. I didn't think Jon were the type of man to strike me if I dared enter the bedding without him, so fully clothed and no longer willing to speak of my Lord and his depravity I crawled soundlessly into the furs and became lost to their warmth and forgetful of the severe lack of it here at the Wall.


	15. Mad Dog

Life had become dull without my shadow.  
My spite had grown to twice it's usual size with the lack of stimulation that the petty whores brought to my bed furs. I was not fond of boredom. Even the meetings with the council had grown tiring without the familiar sensation of her knelt between my legs. I couldn't focus. If I had my way I would lie in wait on the outskirts of the Wall for the battle to come. To claim her for my own once more and watch that stupid wolf boy die at my feet. I did not miss her being, only her body and that beautiful mind that twisted so pliantly under my hand. I had not realised the sweet release her daily servitude had brought unto me until I had sent her away. The thought of Jon Snow with his filthy fingers on her body made my eye twitch involuntarily. The thought of her luring him to me like the witch she was somewhat relaxed my ever soaring temper.  
"Ramsay.  _Focus_." My Father's sharp tone cut rudely into my musings. "Have you heard a single word uttered in this meeting? Have you any input on holding the rebellion that threatens to sweep from the North? The people are starving. It is your  _duty_  to act or you face losing your already questionable hold on the men that hoist our banners."  
"So let them starve. Starving men cannot start a rebellion." I glowered at him, turning to the council with a flailing hand to dismiss the issue. "Next. Have you had word from the bastard?" Anticipation crept in as worried glances were exchanged between the council and my Father.  
"We have not received word for her arrival. The rider insists she was left exactly as you instructed. Forget the girl, my son. She will be smitten with the men of the Night's Watch by now. Whores hold no loyalty. I will not remind you of the obvious again." He spat the words and held my gaze as no other man would.  
"Do not dare open your mouth to slander my plans once more or I will have your  _tongue."_  
My Lord Father stiffened in his seat.  
"You will die if you go anywhere near the Wall or the Wolf that guards it, boy.  _Move on._ "  
"And how do you suppose they would possibly anticipate my arrival and prepare for the oncoming attack, Father? Are you  _still_  harping on about how the girl will betray me and fall into the arms of the enemy?! Did I not just make it perfectly clear that I wi-"  
"They are aware of your plans, you  _simpleton_!"  
The statement hung heavily in the air, slowly sinking through the blackened paste that was a veil of tension until it dropped with a  _crack_  against open ears. The whore had truly done it. She had fucked the King and spilled her secrets to him and the men at this table had all sat mockingly as if entertaining a child of some wild fantasy while I beat on for days about her submission and my victory. The heavy rise and fall of my chest was enough to have the council begin to push back their chairs. I struck my blade in the table with a deft thud, freezing the council and watching the wood splinter and crack -  the very same effect rippled painfully in my skull. " _That filthy, gutless, treacherous little_ ** _mongrel_**!"  
I erupted like hellfire at the nearest man to my blade; plunging it relentlessly into his chest until the swift pull back began to shower the table with his innards and dark juices. I ran my hand through the waste and threw it accusingly at the quivering men that watched on in horror. Only my Father remained unflinching during my outburst. " _How did you know? When did you hear word of her failure? How long did she last before outting me to the enemy?!"_  The steady rise of my voice now resembling a guttural roar and shook the walls - threatening to come down and kill every man that sat wide eyed and pleading in their seats.  
"The girl is probably dead, Ramsay. Your intentions had been revealed even before her body left Winterfell." My Father's words did nothing to slow my hungry blade.  
I spun wildly to the elderly advisor that had lived long before my reign in Winterfell, snatching him by the collar and running a blade across his throat. With yet another lifeless body clutched between blood-smothered palms I turned to my Father. "Traitors! Loyal only to the Starks and the bastard they raised!"  
"None of the Stark's employment had anything to do with your exposure, son. Put away your blade." There he was again. Muttering riddled words that revealed little but implied all. I only liked games if I was the host. I did not take kindly to becoming a player in the dark. I turned slowly to his figure, taking note of the way his hand gripped readily at the sword at his hip. A holy man did not sweat under the eyes of the Gods. Only the sinful feared the redemption to come.  
"If not the girl.." I took two steps closer, "and not the Starks," I leaned lower to face my maker, "then  _who_ , dear Father? Please, guide me with your wisdom and gaul me with your truth. I am just  _so_  excited to find out." My tongue ran tentatively over grinning teeth, bared broad at the uncomfortable receiver.  
"You are a mad dog chasing an unreachable bone. You would never have killed the King. Only yourself. I sent a raven the moment your lunacy threatened to put this council at risk with reckless war games. The King would only accept our plea if the girl was to remain at the Wall. I assume he has strung her up and let the crows feast on what little meat they could find by now, my boy. That is, if she hadn't already let loose lips squeal of your oncoming assault. She is a twisted creature and I will sing songs of rejoice when you are free from this maddened obsession.  _It has gone too far._ "  
Rigid words passed pursed lips and in his self incriminating admittance I steadied my breathing. Cold callous hands flexed at my sides as the beast within tore through muscle and bone, claiming what little sanity had survived in the barren wasteland some called a conscience. Maidens told ghost stories of skin walkers and beasts in the night, but never spoke the truth of the men that chose not to chain their demons. Like a stallion fuelled with the crack of a whip I bucked wildly and with a vengeance in the hall.  
 _"I choose when she dies! Me! Only me! She is_ ** _mine_** _to kill! She belongs to me!"_  
My Father could not unsheathe his sword in time to flay off a calculated gouge at his eye socket. The handle of the dagger was all that remained; the blade now lodged within gore and guts as his solitary eyeball rolled up into his skull - the shock seizing his senses and ending his miserable existence.  
Panic descended upon the room and I widened my arms to embrace the atmosphere that consumed my prey, marching steadily towards the oak door and wedging the wooden beam within its hinges. Like a fox in a hen house I smelt the air and moaned as the ever enticing screams turned to begs and the enthralling aroma of fear and fury filled the air in equal measure. I let carnal impulses lead my assault, moving with vicious precision as I maimed every man in the room as a butcher would chop the head of a pig - some of the dead even squealed the same as the pot bellied beasts they stuffed their faces with. I took no joy in such cuisines. This was my feast.  
An insatiable bloodlust began to boil the bones beneath my skin, taking a once brittle structure and armouring it with rage. I had never felt so untouchable in all of my serial executions. As the walls and floors became lined with the organs of the fallen I stood like an unholy deity to the dead. Blood ran from the dregs of my hair and merged to a sweat slicked brow; entrails hung like a badge of honour earned only by the depraved and the fumes of shit and piss that emitted from bloody corpses washed over me in the feat of my massacre.  
Jon Snow flashed like a blazing arrow through the darkness that had consumed frenzied thoughts and spurred my vessel to sail on in its peak. Ghost stood like a lone candle in my mind, her ivory skin burning bright and urgent even in the shadows. She would be the beacon that guided me to the Wall through the frost that lie ahead. If the girl lived, she should pray for ignorance in the treachery that had unfolded these days gone - else she fall victim to my rapture and suffer the tribulation.


	16. Execution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I am so so grateful for the amount of feedback I have received for this story so thank you so much for reading and following along! This Chapter was delayed, but the next is in full swing and I promise you won't be kept hanging nearly as long. I hope you enjoy! As always please leave me any comments and feedback as it's really appreciated and helps out with a lacking motivation as of late due to life slamming me haha!

Breakfast in the hall swarmed with busy soldiers all scrapping together a meal from their mush. With little options available for the hungry men the stale bread soon disappeared from tattered wooden bowls and the remaining oats turned cold as the fire burned out beneath the pot and hearth.  
Jon sat stoically at my side. Sam paralleled our seats. They both filled the bustling morning with light chatter, but the heavy burden that troubled their minds did not go unnoticed as I watched their interaction.  
Jon had informed me this morning during our quiet awakening that he must leave me once more. They intended to raid an abandoned village beyond the Wall in hope of much needed supplies. Jon being the honourable King that he was intended to lead the party into the blizzards of the unknown. The men that passed our table with the King and his band of brothers all offered their respects and well wishes as he devoured the dwarfed portion that sat on his plate. Jon humbly dismissed their gratitude, speaking only of duty and the wellbeing of his men. Though the cold wars endured had hardened his once boyish exterior - the man that remained still beat with same kind heart.  
"I will return before nightfall. Sam has offered to keep you company in my departure." Jon's gentle voice lured into the present. I turned to Sam, who smiled tentatively and perked up in his seat. "Have you ever stood a top the Wall? It is quite a sight to behold... if you can stomach the height, of course. I could take you there, if you'd like?" Sam rambled in his offer, his shy mannerism steadying my own rusty social habits in sympathy. I smiled warmly at him in hopes of calming his nerves.  
"Don't worry if you can't stomach the height," Jon interjected, nudging my shoulder gently with his own, "Sam still stands 10 foot away from the edge if he can manage it." Jon grinned over at his friend and Sam only blushed in return, but laughed along with the King in jest.  
"Yes, well it is quite high." He uttered pointedly, looking back to me with a teasing smile now warming rosy cheeks. "Besides, a great fall could kill you. Woman pose no such threat, and yet  _Jon_  still loses his nerve when faced with one." I let laughter lift my spirits then, averting my gaze from the now stiffening King that huffed at my side.  
"Shut  _up_." Jon scowled and smacked Sam atop the head with his gloves, eyes narrowing with no real menace behind the stare.  
Sam rubbed his head sorely and flashed me another of those sheepish smiles. I unthinkingly beamed back at him, decidedly enjoying his company.  
The cup that sat before me glinted with the hint of white teeth shimmering in the reflection. It was strange to catch sight of yourself so unguarded. I looked happy. I looked as if I had not come here to lead these men to murder. A nauseating guilt slapped the smile off my face, fading slowly to a desolate stare as the pair continued to slap one another like unruly children across the table.  
"It seems you two will be just fine without me. Try to keep Sam from getting too upset when you reach the top of the Wall for me, will you?" Jon looked down at me with another genuine smile. I could see something churning behind his eyes, the same searching look that had greeted me in the woods upon arrival. It made the uneasy feeling in my gut tenfold. Without waiting for my non existent response Jon then readied his sword and left our party to join his own. I kept my eyes downcast as the steady march of boots all fade into the frost.  
"If we hurry, we can watch them leave from atop the Wall." Sam proposed, smiling sympathetically at me. Perhaps the man thought I would pine for Jon's return, but my thoughts were already starving for the attention of another. Ramsay was the only antidote to the sickness that corrupted a mottled mind. I had to remember that. I had to remember him. Else I be lost to the kindness of the Night's Watch and fall victim to their complacency. Soft men in a harsh world with a hardened hunter out for their skins _._  To even warm to their company would be toslit my own throat.

                                                                                                                                   *

"I told you it was beautiful."  
Sam's words didn't do the view below justice. Even the woodlands of Winterfell looked pitiful in comparison to the vast forest that spread for miles and miles until to see them individually was a near impossible task - your eyes instead only comprehending the plant life as a swirling pool of white and green that bristled with the breeze. It only stopped to make way for the mountains that rose from the earth and stared down at the wasteland. Everything looked as wild as the tales foretold and somehow I believed the stories of white walkers and hellish beasts and bloodthirsty giants that lie in wait. What else could possibly survive out there? Certainly no man or woman.  
I let padded feet perch precariously at the edge of the frosted flooring, staring out across the wildlands that lurked beyond the Wall.  
"You shouldn't stand so close. The winds are quite strong this high." Sam stood six steps behind me, his arm teetering back and forth as if he might catch me if I fall. I didn't fear the breeze. If the winds chose to whisk me to my death then so be it. It would be a far easier way to go than facing the betrayal to come. At least then I could die aimlessly without the choice of failure or guilt to send me to my grave.  
I watched silently as Jon and his party all stormed ahead towards the tree line. If I unfocused my eyes they looked like nothing more than the dirt and debris that trailed through the ashen snow. I fleetingly thought about how Jon could die on this raid. The thought turned to sweet hope on my tongue and then became bitter with the aftermath of such an occurrence. Though it might save me from bloodying my own hands it would mean a new end all together. I had no doubt that some of the vultures had caught wind of the King's departure and already stretched their wings to scout for an attack.  
"Are you cold? We can head back to the Chambers if you'd like, miss." There was Sam again. Closer than he had been before, what little warmth emitting from his body still noticeable even in the beating winds. I turned slowly to him and shook my head uncertainly.  
"Could I stay here until the King's return? The risk of a fall somehow seems safer than the threat on the ground." I did not care to think about the men that seethed of the beating dealt on my behalf. I half expected Sam to shake his head and call me foolish for wishing to stay here withering in the elements, but he only smiled.  
"I thought you might say that." He stated surely, pulling a heavy flask and three stale bread rolls from his pockets. He held them up excitedly, before turning to the pit of coals that sat at the watch post we occupied. Sam began to work the blackened coals to fire. He soundlessly kindled at the coal and kindling until flames licked the air above and began to toast the stale rolls.  
"They're much better warmed." Sam was speaking absentmindedly about the food, but the gesture had touched something. Something I thought had died a long time ago.  
"Thank you."  
The statement hung between us. I guessed Sam knew it wasn't just about the stolen bread and wine.  
"You seemed like you could use something warm." Sam turned to face me, his smile doing more to lift my spirits than the fire or the bread. How had his sweet nature survived the wars that broke so many others? Even Jon had become harder since our last encounter - his intentions though true were drenched with something darker. Though the King had tried to pull me from the ashes I knew that somehow the desire to help me was something born of a failure in other aspects of his life. Ramsay was another species altogether - everything had to be earned, including the right to continue breathing in his presence. With that meant that everything could also be taken away at the snap of his cold, callous fingers. Every hit, kick and spit posed as a reminder to that.  
Sam. Sam seemed simply a good man. With no agenda, no right or reasoning. He simply  _was_.  
I sat with Sam long into the day and night. Though he added no pressure to fill my heavy silence I found that he spoke honestly of his own upbringing and the journey that led him here. Sometimes I felt as if he were speaking just to calm my ruined nerves. Perhaps he wanted me to know I simply wasn't alone up here. We shared the wine, we ate the bread, we even laughed when he began to tell stories of the trouble him and a once young, _(though never careless,)_  Jon Snow had caused here in the Watch.  
I had spent so many months, years even, listening to Ramsay speak of every man here only as the enemy. Faceless men that deserved the death that would serve. I had listened in silence and never once thought of the good men like Sam that should know nothing but love and joy until their end. I couldn't let the guilt swallow me whole - my intentions were absolute and must stay that way, but it felt good to breathe the clean air and laugh without fear of breaking the deathly silence that both Jon and Ramsay always created upon their arrival.  
"Is Ghost really your name?" Sam asked quizzically, poking at the fire as darkness consumed the rest of the world.  
The question shook me out of my jolly stupor. I took a moment to collect myself.  
"Yes, Ghost is really my name."  
Ramsay had named me Ghost the day he found me on the road. Beaten and bloody I had lied before my Lord, at loss with the world and wholly consumed by the men in it before his saviour. It took a day to break me. I remember the ordeal vividly, but I remember the silence that followed the torture more than any whip or chain. I remember the way he looked at me as I wept silently into his hand and let bruised cheeks rest in his open palm - how once dull eyes lit up like a beacon that called my conscience back to him even as the heavy tug of exhaustion threatened to pull me under. I listened to his voice when I couldn't stand the sound of my own thoughts any more. I listened hard and responded accordingly to his mood and somehow it became easier than dealing with any of the pain inflicted on his darkest days. A once terrifying captor became a comforting familiarity in a world that had never showed me any other kindness. You cannot fix a broken thing. You cannot call a stick a sword and you cannot call a slave a woman or title her in any such manner. I did not care to remember past lives or names or the many guttural slurs that had been spat down at me by previous soldiers and street men alike. Ghost is what  _he_  had named me and Ghost shall remain my name.  
Sam rose from beside me and offered out a hand that looked more like a paw bound in leather. "Jon has returned," he murmured seriously, frowning out into the darkness as a single torch shot from the tree line like an arrow in the darkness, " _alone_."

                                                                                                                             *  
  
  
The King arrived with a black cloud storming above his bloody head. He waited with his mouth pursed into a grim line in the courtyard as his brothers gathered round full flock in the snow. The King had returned with no supplies or men at his side. Alone he stood with a temper seemingly as wild as the Dire Wolf that sat silently at his hip - the beast looked war torn and a once gleaming coat now muddied in the blood of enemies and its companions. Jon was bloodied from head to toe, his sword dripped with the remains of the fallen and his face spoke only of the darkness that had unfolded during the failed raid.  
"It seems the Night's Watch has more enemies than one, my brothers. A man in this very council informed me of the abandoned village and spoke of food and supplies that might save us through the winter. All that lie in wait for us at that village was an  _ambush_. Premeditated by savages - savages that should have no means of such regimented war strategies." He gritted his teeth despairingly and the grip on his blade tightened. "A trap. No,  _more_  than that. A  _betrayal._ "  
Jon couldn't quite bottle the rage that leaked from his ears and eyes. Even the tone of his voice seemed strained with the effort of not screaming at the men before him. The uneasy murmur of now outraged soldiers all bristled at my sides. I could not take my eyes off of the bloody King, who swept one mangled hand through unkempt hair as if to push back the rage. So  _angry_. Yet somehow, he bit down on his tongue and burned with the effort of controlling his demons.  
"I will give this man one chance to stand forward and admit his treachery before you all. To apologize for the men that now lie  _dead_  beyond the wall at his cowardice. A moment to redeem his honour before his execution."  
The offering seemed more of a threat. No man stepped forward to repent for his sins. The torchlight licked at Jon's wounds dangerously - his face and once broad stance now broken and failing by the battle he had endured. The King looked at home in the bloodshed. That hardened edge that I had only caught glimpses of upon arrival was now as as stark as the stars above that sat defiantly in the night sky. They belonged there.  
"Six men left this morning. Only one returns. Only one must pay." Jon scowled down at his men and I watched the patience dissipate behind a now blackening stare as he turned to face the crowd at large. "Elgrin Brask."  
The heavy bustle of armour clinking and the uproar of the traitor erupted in the night. A silent flurry of eyes swept the courtyard, quickly locating the traitor and ripping him from the shadows. Elgrin Blask kicked and shoved and fought every man that dare lay a hand on him, but the night's watch swarmed calmly at their target and within moments the weasel was kneeling before the wolf.  
"I was under threat, your Grace! I beg of you! I am a  _brother_. I do not deserve this end!"  
"You are no brother of ours."  
Elgrin's already rodent like features screwed up in a faux remorse, tears touching his cheeks as he bowed time and time again before the statue that rose above him. I had seen many men and women beg for their life. Ramsay had always enjoyed making a spectacle of their final few moments. Not Jon. Even through all that anger I could still see the traces of hurt that hid behind a now eerily composed complexion.  
Jon began to recite the oaths any good Lord would speak before an execution. I had zoned out entirely, captivated by his face. It was as if Jon had now switched off his emotions - where once a young boy and a good man had rested were now only the the pain and duty of a King. There was no excitement in his eyes as the man was wrestled down to the wood. The constant mention of the God's did nothing to make the Wolf King feel any more holy. I had never witnessed such a blinding remorse for killing from a man - much less a solider or a King. Jon was a new breed altogether. Yet still he held his sword high and took a final breath to make peace with his decision. It was only as he let the heavy weight of the metal collide with Elgrin Blask's wiry neck that he snapped his head out and found me in the crowd. His eyes bore down on me and that once searching look had now settled into a woeful contempt that had my hackles raised before he opened his mouth.  
"There is no pride in killing our enemies, but much less there is no  _honour_  in killing our own. I hope if nothing else this serves as a lesson to those that consider betrayal as an easy way out. There is no honesty amongst thieves nor liars. All that waits for you is death. Whether it by my sword or another's."  
Jon never took his eyes off of me.  
The smell of blood in the air and the icy gaze that came tumbling down on me from Jon and his men set my nerves on fire. I wanted to run. I needed to run. It seems the execution was a spectacle indeed all in honour of my presence.  
The game was over.  
The King knew.


	17. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been a long time coming. I can only apologise for it taking THIS long. I hit a block for a long time and then life got in the way. I will be uploading frequently again. I’m so sorry, BUT. I hope the wait pays off and you all enjoy. Any comments and feedback is always appreciated. ♥️

The execution had been over for a matter of minutes before the men of the watch swarmed the hall for an unappetizing supper of slop and sour ale. The sound of clad footsteps ushered into the questionable warmth of the keep, but my own feet remained rooted deep within the snow - seemingly frozen solid, much alike the rest of this winter world.

Jon stood atop the wooden stage with a face of thunder and rain and unspoken accusation. I could not look away - even as my heart sank into the depths of my belly and the world around me fell to ash. Pitiful thoughts of fleeing into the unknown were as useless as the limbs attached to my hollow frame. Where would I go? A lamb could not not outrun a lion. And a sheep could not outsmart a wolf.

The King approached after some time; his movements rigid with the utmost restraint as he skulked down from the bloody scene behind him and into the open. Adrenaline began to pump life back into shaking legs and I took two steps back to match his arrival. The memory of the boy that once lived in the soft lines of his face had disappeared altogether. Whether it be the strain of his most recent battle or the rage of my betrayal - something had chased away the last of the kindness that had otherwise been everpresent in his stoic gaze.

"Would you like me to escort you to the hall, Ghost? Or has your appetite run dry?" Jon spoke with mild vehement in comparrison to my Lord, but I did not struggle to hear the acute edge that reached his tone. I kept my lips tightly sealed. Jon Snow would not be the man to rattle me into begging for mercy.

"The cold seems to have chased away your colour," he mused, "perhaps rest would be better suited." It seems the King was in no mood to wait for an end to my sudden onset of mutism. Instead letting a firm hand grasp my arm and making a swift departure from the elements and towards his chambers. I did not resist his hold - my movements as pliant as the water of a running stream in hopes of making it to a pool of calm.

The door slammed shut behind us and finally the anchor that was Jon's grip released me from its weight.

"Why are you here, Ghost?"

The question hung in the air between us - weighted and ugly in its impatience.

"My Lord sent me here, your Grace." It was not a lie - nor was it the whole truth. Jon's face twitched; a sign no doubt of his waining resolve.

"Why did Ramsay send you here?"

"It is not my place to question my Lord and his decisi-"

"Enough with your games!" Jon's words seared across the room like an arrow howling in the wind - pinning its target to the muddied earth below. I felt my throat tigthen anxiously as the deep boom of his voice rattled frayed nerves. Silence consumed the chambers and Jon once again ran lean fingers through the wild mane that sat atop his head. Anguish seemed to touch the lines of his face and composure washed over the chagrin that had fissured there moments ago.

"I'm sorry." He murmured, letting out a heavy sigh and lowering himself into the cushioned chair near the window. Jon looked aged beyond his years. The burden of a King seemed no light feat in the darkness of his chambers. He steadied himself and began to remove the ravaged chainmail and armour that tired him so. "I know why you are here. I just do not know if Ramsay has truly poisoned you with his tongue," his pupils narrowed questingingly, "or if the girl I once knew is still there beyond his command."

Jon's eyes flickered in the candlelight, his voice somewhat hopeful despite what he must know to be true. "The real question is," his brows knitted together with the same somber expression that had worried him in the breakfast Hall that very morning, "do you truly mean to bring me harm, Ghost?"

Alone in the darkness, beyond the burning gaze of my Lord and the vultures that swarmed the Wall, I did not know the answer. I could not speak. Not with Jon staring so earnestly into my core; his eyes shining with unspent frustration.

"Are you here to kill me?" The King's  voice edged closer to a growl, the words hot and heavy as they rolled from his tongue. It seems the man's patience was dissipating through his final attempt at faux calm.

My feet faltered under pressure, moving towards the door in a sudden onset of panic. With hands fueled only by raw nerves I let deft fingers fumble with the lock that barred my path. It seems Jon had anticipated my cowardice. I heard the faint hiss of the cushion as his weight rose from the seat - sending me into a frenzy. I rattled the handle vigorously in hopes of somehow overpowering the metal bolt and breaking free. It was only when two arms swooped from either side and planted themselves against the woodwork that my shambles came to a bitter end. Jon stood like an iron cage around my frame and I hugged closer to the door, desperate to escape the heat that emitted from him as he pressed ever closer. The movement was not aggressive, but Ramsay had coated many assaults in a tender embrace. I would be foolish to think better of Jon - King or not. My heartrate stuttered to a stop as his hands swallowed up my own, fastening me into place as he leaned further towards pricked ears. I did not know whether his actions were to intimidate or reassure me as I whimpered in defeat; finally going still within his fortress. The world fell away. I could hear nothing but the steady exhale of his lungs as he whispered to me in the quiet.

"Are you going to kill me?"

I let my head bump against the oak and swallowed back the bile that threatened to spill from my lips. Already worried nails dug deeper into the splintering door, but Jon only interlocked his fingers and squeezed. I tensed systematically - bracing myself for the familiar crack of bone. Instead my flinch was embarassingly undeserving - the King merely ran his thumb in soothing circles across a fading scar that lined protruding knuckles. Perhaps Jon would not touch me so delicately if he knew how that scar had come to be. It served as an unwanted reminder of Allys and her silent screams - a bitter memorabilia of the way my fists had knocked her pretty white teeth to the back of her skull. During the calamity I had not noticed the small canine that burrowed itself beneath my skin. Ramsay had been the one to pluck it from within the wound; giddy with pride as he sucked the blood from the incisor and rolled his eyes back in delight. I could still feel the scratch as Ramsay took that tooth and shoved it down my throat just for the thrill. I swear to the God's it still carved her name within when she screamed for me on the bad nights.

I did not deserve the gentle ways of the King. I was no less a monster than Ramsay himself. Proven tenfold by the now seemingly incredulous intention of coming here to slaughter innocent men on his behalf. I shuddered and thought long and hard about the frightful fury that would meet my end if he found out I had failed him once more. Not that I had failed him yet. Redemption could still be won. Jon Snow could never care for a creature like me. Nor would the gentle man ever understand why I had done such terrible things in the hopes of never returning to the hole in the Wall. He could never know that without Ramsay I was nothing.

I gritted my teeth and spun around blindly in his arms, jumping at him like a banshee in the night. Instinctively my hands darted for his face and I became nothing more than a fit of rage and desperation -tooth and nail tearing flesh as he wrestled to release himself from the tight lock of my legs around his waist. A dagger sat invitingly at the King's hip and my talons that had thus far been raking at his face found the grip of the blade with ease even amonst our struggle. Jon grunted as he was disarmed, and worry set in a his hands gripped my hips with a painful amount of pressure and strength that he had not exerted before whilst handling me.

"Don't do this." Jon looked straight at me then, his eyes wild with fever and fury as he slammed his body forward against the door, knocking every inch of air from my lungs as he did so. I dropped my hands to brace myself against his shoulders, struggling to do anything other than stare back at him as the fire in his eyes touched my own. My sudden falter did not go unnoticed by the soldier that towered above. Jon braced himself and shunned forward once more, this time slamming my hand between an armoured shoulder and the brickwork behind. I cried out and let the blade drop from now searing fingertips. Hindsight indicated this was not a smart move. The here and now also indicated an error in judgement. I attempted to release my legs from his waist, shaking hands now pushed tight against his chest. Whatever hopes of escaping had consumed me were stamped out with a vicelike grip that now fastened his hands to my thighs. Jon stood with all the calm and composure that usually held him together. Which absolutely infuriated me. How dare he stand there in all of his self righteous glory knowing I would die no matter what the outcome of this pathetic attack might be. It was his fault I was here in the first place. It was his fault Ramsay had locked me in a cell for so many moons. It was his fault Ramsay had beat me so often in the depths of his despair after their first battle. Jon was the enemy. Jon was the monster. Jon Snow was a damned bastard.

I beat blindly at his chest and tried to rip myself away from his hold. Jon stood soundlessly as my rage welled up and spilled over into the room; taking the full force of my explosion like a dam catching the rippling waves of a wild tsunami. As the fever swelled between us and my stamina washed away I felt his hand clasp my cheeks, raising my chin to meet his gaze. I screwed my eyes shut and tried to pull away, but Jon kept our gaze steady; both firm and gentle even in this moment. Always so kind. I could not find the strength to fight it. I let my head butt gently against his own in a silent defeat. His hands relaxed from my hips, snaking underneath both legs to hold me in the darkness.

"You should kill me." I murmured.

"No. I should not." I felt the rumble of his chest as he sighed against my cheek, a stray hand running across my back in an attempt to soothe the sadness.

"I would have killed you."

"Would you like to try again?"

"Maybe in the morning." I retorted.

Together we laughed away some of the tension. I watched his face relax as the sound fell from between his lips. I caught the way his eyes fell across my face and touched my cheek gently with his nose, inviting him closer. Jon turned his face to match the gesture, his lips hovering inches from my own. The spark that ignited between us in that moment became as overpowering as the blinding sun on a summer's day. I could feel the rush of heat between our skin; the collision of it turning from a steady hum to crackling static as we froze in time. Jon's pupils dilated and my heart raced in anticipation.

"Promise you'll wait 'til the morning?" He whispered, his hand entwining in a bunch of my hair, keeping my face locked into place.

"I promi-"

The words were cut off. Jon surged forward and in that moment the King had me surrender to his will. A kiss like no other - filled with bittersweet longing and a lingering spite that rose from the ashes of our waining bloodlust.

I felt every inch of his powerful frame both solidify and crumble as my legs squeezed around his already grinding hips. It seems the King's composure could not reach his carnal impulses. A guttural moan was sighed between parted lips and I felt his pressing need between my legs. Hot and wanting and impatient as it thrust against the fabric that restricted us in our passion. Together we sank into the furs that lined the floor; not once coming up for air as hungry lips traced the lines of each other's stark skin and bone. I could taste the battle that had commenced beyond the wall. The blood and sweat and heavy cologne of a man of war that ensnared my senses into a blinding want. Jon's breathing became ragged; the warm smoke fumed from between his lips as he traced his tongue across scarred skin. The clothing that once confined our burning bodies lay ravaged in the chambers and even through the heat of our embrace the King still stopped as he towered above my naked body.

"Are you sure you want this?" He asked.

I could not find the words in that moment to speak. I could not believe the beauty of a man so burdened by honour and war. So kind and gentle even in his desires. So good.

I reached for his face and my fingers found the soft tangles of hair that fell across his cheeks; with that being my only anchor in this frightful new world I rose to let his lips meet my own. Jon melted away above me and the King, with all his duty and care, became nothing more than a man. A damned good man at that.

I pushed my hips down to meet his measured thrust and together we let go of the world.

I fell into a state of need and bliss and wanted to stay this way forever with him. In a loss of my inhibitions I begged the King to take me. His arms became sure and steady and snaked beneath my head, cradling me in a tender embrace as we moved together beneath the candlelight. I let my lips rest against the warm skin that coated the crook of his neck and kissed away any and all of his uncertainty, breathing him in holding on for my dignity as his body began to wreck my own. Between heavy moans and ungodly groans we climaxed together with the same passion of newly weds under a rising sun. The stars that had formed behind my eyes mere moments ago faded away and in the calm of our aftermath I dared to take a peak at the man that still hovered above my shaking body. A haze of euphoria still blurred my vision but the King was already staring down at me with a clear eye and apprehensive expression.

"Was that okay?" He murmured softly, his fingers tracing my brow in a dazed caress. There he was again. That dutiful King ever concerned for my wellbeing. I couldn't contain my amusement at the endearing question. A laugh falling from between breathless lips against his chin. Still he marvelled down at me as if waiting for a response. I rose my hand up and stroked back the mane that threatened to swallow up his handsome face.

"That was wonderful, Jon." I smiled. "I'm almost happy I didn't kill you."

Between ragged breathes and a moments pause a smile bursting with pride rose between his cheeks, filling them with a joy that had not touched them prior to this very moment.

"You called me Jon." He grinned.

My eyebrows lifted in surprise. It seems post orgasm it was easy to forget your manners.

"I didn't me-"

"Say it again." He commanded, his features growing beautifully dark. I paused, both elated and reeling in the tension that surged between us once more. With a surrendering smile I ran my tongue across my lips, excited for what was to come.

" _Jon_." I purred.

Together we fell back into bliss.


End file.
